


Blackmail.

by castiellovesrainbows



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bad Boy Dean Winchester, Banter, Blackmail, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Bullying, Butt Plugs, Castiel Wears Panties (Supernatural), Closeted Dean Winchester, Derogatory Language, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Foreplay, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Gay Sex, High School, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Lingerie, M/M, Mean Dean Winchester, Nerd Castiel (Supernatural), Nude Photos, Possessive Dean Winchester, Private School, Rape Recovery, Rimming, Rivalry, Rough Sex, School Uniforms, Sexual Tension, Sexually Frustrated Dean Winchester, Slave Castiel (Supernatural), Slurs, Slut Castiel (Supernatural), Spanking, Student Castiel (Supernatural), Student Dean Winchester, Supportive Sam Winchester, Teasing, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Top Dean Winchester, Virgin Castiel (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-15 19:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 15
Words: 49,536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29194488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castiellovesrainbows/pseuds/castiellovesrainbows
Summary: "Be a shame if someone on the faculty were to find out that their star student of the year is a whore, wouldn't it?"A wicked smile curled at Dean's lips, and Castiel felt tears sting his eyes as his lips trembled. Damn it, the only reason he'd ever taken to OnlyPics was because he knew no one would be able to identify him. But this son of a bitch, Dean, how had he even—"I have a favour to ask.""Wh-what favour?""You want me to be your slave? To do your assignments and essays for you while you go sleep around with whores?"
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 93
Kudos: 267





	1. Castiel.

**Author's Note:**

> This will be a long fic.

The men's restroom on the abandoned third floor of Lawrence High is not a place one usually frequented. Of course, the same could not be said for Castiel Novak, a senior on his lunch break, who at the moment, snuck furtive glances from around him before slipping inside the door with a board on the front, saying in bright, bold words— **Out Of Function.** He paid no heed to them, in fact, he hadn't cared for the sign for the past three months, ever since he'd discovered how convenient and secure it was to roam around the empty halls of the third floor, look at the world in a way no one else had before. Apparently the third floor was going to be converted into another floor of classrooms for students, but due to a budget cut, the school never got around to finish the renovation.

Castiel grazed his fingers against the marble-tiled wall of the vacant, sunlit men's bathroom, and shut the door behind him with a soft click, before slipping into the farthest stall and shutting himself in. He fished his phone out of his pocket and tapped on the round, heart-shaped icon on the homescreen.

**OnlyPics.**

It was a guilty pleasure.

The summer before school, while surfing around on the internet, Castiel had stumbled on to a picture of a girl, dressed in a skimpy corset, black stockings and bunny ears. He hadn't thought much of it, but the website he had been led to after clicking on the picture had been OnlyPics. OnlyPics was a strange place. People seemed to flood it with comments and posts, and without revealing any information about yourself except for a username, you could post pictures of yourself. Premium users could even earn money from the pictures the posted. And when Castiel had ended up falling down a rabbit-hole of OnlyPics, he'd found _the_ photos. Photos of women, showing nothing but their cleavage peeking through a shirt, or photos taken from a low angle with a view up into their skirts, showing their thin, damp panties, and the comments? Castiel wondered if the people in the comments thought it was disgusting, but to his surprise— there had been nothing but love and support in the comments. Hearts for as low as he could scroll.

That had changed Castiel's life.

Two days later, he posted a picture of himself. Not his face, simply his chest in a button-up shirt, with his suspenders still on his shoulder, but a few buttons at the top were unbuttoned. He'd considered tossing his phone into the nearest sea, and never looking back, but hours later, when he finally mustered up the courage to read the comments on his picture— his jaw dropped to the floor.

_you look handsome (red heart emoji red heart emoji)_

_(red heart emoji red heart emoji drooling emoji drooling emoji)_

_this made my day, or shall i say night? (wink emoji)_

Yes, some of the comments were a bit teasing, a bit lewd too— but all at once, Castiel felt rejuvenated. As if he suddenly had something more to live for than books and video-games. Something he looked forward to each morning. His parents were corporate slaves with barely any time for him, so it never made a difference, they would never care for what Castiel decided to do with his life. OnlyPics gave Castiel a new purpose.

Ever since, Castiel had become, what some may call, _obsessed._

The pictures he posted these days, however, were not as plain as they were before. With time, Castiel had become comfortable on OnlyPics, some may even say far _too_ comfortable.

Which is why he let out a soft sigh, before setting his phone down on the lid of the toiletseat, and starting the video recording. He unbuckled his zipper, pushing his uniform trousers down until they pooled at his ankles, and bent over the wall, sticking his plump, jutting ass out and reaching back to spread it open, revealing to the camera the tiny, green plug nestled in his glistening, pink hole.

What a sight he was. Castiel Novak, class nerd, with his ass spread on camera, asshole fluttering with excitement.

If only his classmates knew this is what _nerd_ Novak did in his free time, they wouldn't be able to look him in the eye anymore.

He even let out a moan, for the theatrics of it all.

After all, the app ran on closeted middle-aged men jacking off to pictures of tiny little things with thick bottoms and boobs.

The timer of the video beeped, and indicated the end of the video, and Castiel hastily pulled his trousers up and zipped himself. He grabbed his phone off the toilet-seat lid and browsed through his gallery to review the video he had just recorded. The video played, and Castiel watched himself bent over against the wall, only his hips and legs in view as he spread his knees apart and stretched his ass wide open, watching as the green plug fluttered inside his asshole.

With a quirk of his bottom lip, Castiel uploaded the video to OnlyPics, with the cheeky, single-worded caption of _bored_.

Steadying his breath and adjusting his uniform, Castiel walked out of the stall, washing his hands at the sink purely out of habit, before walking over to the locked door. His polished black leather boots clacked on the tiled floor as he scuttered out of the bathroom and turned, eyes glued to his own shoes, when at once, a voice broke through the air, and Castiel froze.

"Bored? Me too. I mean, I've been waiting here for twenty minutes already."

A shiver ran down Castiel's spine as his eyes widened, and he turned on his heels, a deer-caught-in-a-headlight expression on his face as he blushed a deep, dark red right from the tips of his ears down to his neck.

The voice sounded too familiar to be comforting, which Castiel realised the moment he turned around. Of course, the only person with a deep voice, second to Castiel, had to be Dean Winchester.

Dean Winchester was trouble. Pure, unadulterated trouble.

He was Castiel's classmate, although they never spoke much. Far too many times Castiel had lost his cool in class because of Dean Winchester. Class delinquent. There were about a hundred rumours floating around about him, about how he'd been to juvenile detention, about how he'd slept with the principal's daughter, and the likes. Castiel never understood why someone like Dean ever enrolled and got into an elite, private school like Lawrence High, but well, apparently, Dean had decent grades. So, yes, Dean may as well have been Castiel's rival.

Castiel cursed his stars.

"Dean?"

The boy had a perfect face, chiseled and sculpted right down to perfection. A sharp jaw, attractive dark blonde hair, bright apple-green eyes and a smile that made the girls in his class leak through their panties. Dean smiled, and Castiel watched as he held up a phone, and playing on the screen was—

Bile rose at the back of Castiel's throat as he watched the video play— a video he had uploaded not less than five minutes ago.

"I—"

"Be a shame if someone on the faculty were to find out that their star student of the year is a whore, wouldn't it?"

A wicked smile curled at Dean's lips, and Castiel felt tears sting his eyes as his lips trembled. Damn it, the only reason he'd ever taken to OnlyPics was because he _knew_ no one would be able to identify him. But this son of a bitch, Dean, how had he even—

"I have a favour to ask."

Stuttering, almost in tears, Castiel hung his head down, fingers fidgeting with the hem of his uniform as he swallowed thick, lost in thoughts of shame and fear, wondering how Dean had found him, and if he had found him, who else could be able to do the same? His parents? His teachers? Strangers? Strangers, who would expose him on the internet? Regret washed across Castiel's face as he stood with his tail between his legs, and felt Dean tread over to him, sliding right into his personal space to ghost his lips over Castiel's ears.

"If you refuse, I won't have a single problem leaking this video out to the school blog. I'd be anonymous of course, you though, not so much," He whispered, and Castiel felt his feet carry him backwards, until Dean had him cornered against the wall, his thick, broad arms planted on either side of Castiel's head as he stared down fiercely, mischief lingering in his smirk.

"Wh-what favour?"

"See Novak," Dean chuckled, "—it's senior year. Stakes are high. I'm losing out on assignments, and I really can't afford that, y'know? So I thought, hey, why don't I just go ask the little fag in my class to do my work for me? But then I realized, you're not just a fag, you're also a fucking bitch, and that you'd never agree to help me out. So I had to do a little twisting here and there, and see? Now you can't refuse me."

Castiel grit his teeth. Every ounce of regret inside him had now laced with anger— sheer rage, and he locked his jaw with a gulp. He realised, never before had he despised Dean as much as he did now. Class rivals or not, Dean had always been someone Castiel thought would stay away from him, but here he is, right between Castiel's thighs, _blackmailing_ him at that.

"You want me to be your slave? To do your assignments and essays for you while you go sleep around with whores?"

"Whore wouldn't be the right word, Novak, I mean, aren't you one too? I've never slept with you."

"I'd rather swallow glass then touch you," Castiel hissed, and pushed Dean's arm away, sucking in a deep breath as he trudged away, only for a hand to grip his arm and yank him back. Castiel jerked, eyes wide as Dean twisted his hand around his back and pinned him to the wall.

"You know all I need to do is press _post_ , right? And everything you've worked for so hard will crumble right away."

Disgust rose in the back of Castiel's mind as he compelled himself to stare at Dean, nervously licking his dry lips to speak, when at once, Dean's eyes drop down to his lips to follow the movement of his tongue before flickering back up to his eyes. Castiel tried to twist his arm out of Dean's grip, but it seemed impossible with how tight Dean was holding onto him. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse from having gone silent for so long, "-how long?"

"Huh?"

"How long do I have to do this?"

"For the next month, since I'm feeling generous. But if you fuck up, just know my fingers are _very_ slippery," Dean laughed, fucking laughed in Castiel's face and Castiel almost wanted to spit on him, absolutely repulsed by how disgusting Dean was.

"Fine. But don't you dare post that video, I swear, I'll kill you—"

"Sorry, I don't speak fag."

"You fucking bitch—"

"Ah," Dean clicked his tongue, all male bravado on display, "-what was that?" A sharp tug at Castiel's arm had him arching off the wall and crashing against Dean's chest, causing both boys to moan softly. Castiel's eyes fluttered open, and he tried to suppress the blush rising on his face, but failed.

"I—"

"God, you're disgusting," Dean groaned, and let his hand fall away. He folded his collar up, and unbuttoned the top of his shirt to let some air in, and Castiel stood pressed against the wall, shame and guilt drenching him. Tears threatened to spill past his eyes as he wrapped an arm across his chest and held onto his elbow, rubbing a circle into his own skin in an attempt to soothe himself.

"You gonna' cry?" Dean asked, before bursting into laughter, shaking his head as he doubled over, "-man, you're gayer than I thought."

"I hate you," Castiel grit out, turning on his feet to walk away.

"Good, I'd kill myself if you liked me."

With a nonchalant shrug, Dean turned on his heel, tossing his phone in his hand like a ball, and sauntered away with a loud, depraved laugh.

"Meet me after class, Novak, you start today."


	2. Castiel.

It had been a week already, since Dean had _asked_ Castiel to become his personal slave. It wasn't half as bad as Castiel assumed it would be. For starters, Dean never spoke to him in class, only taunts and insults, which Castiel was thankful for. After class, Dean would lay down a stack of notebooks and binders on Castiel's desk, and send him a charming grin, one that made Castiel want to rip his guts out, and the only instruction was _you know what to do._ In the evening, Castiel would walk by Dean's house, deposit the notebooks in his younger brother, Sam's hands, and be on his way. On the brighter side, at least Castiel was getting himself some revision, even though it may be under the obligation of writing the same answers twice.

It was a simple Friday evening, and Castiel had no plans, no friends, no parties to attend. He lounged back in his bed, scrolling through his OnlyPics, replying and liking the comments on the video he'd posted the week before. Of course, looking at the video reminded Castiel of only his deal with Dean, and he tried to avoid thinking of it, but the love pouring in from the people on the app made him smile, and believe that in some way, he was important to someone.

Feeling risque, a bit aroused, since his parents weren't home yet, Castiel decided to click a picture, a more _sensual_ one this time— simply teasing. He pushed his pants down, and adjusted the lacy, blue panties he was wearing until they sat snug against the curve of his plump, ripe ass. He raised his hips in the air, with his legs spread apart, as if presenting himself, and positioning his hand in the air, he managed to click a picture that showed the delicious swell of his ass, and gave a splendid view of the arc of his back, and paired with the bright, blue of the panties, the picture was great, considering it had been simply experimental. Castiel turned onto his back and laid down on the pillow, holding his phone up as he opened up OnlyPics, and attached the image in a post with the caption, _I think blue just might be my color._

With that, he tossed his phone aside, and sat up on the bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants that clung to his ass, and sauntered down the stairs, into the kitchen. Right as he ducked into the fridge to grab a piece of chocolate, the doorbell rang.

Castiel's eyes snapped back towards the passage, and he sighed, rolling his eyes and tossing the piece of chocolate into his mouth as he walked over to the door to answer.

But the moment the door swung open, who was standing there on his porch but Dean fucking Winchester.

"Dean?" He gasped, stumbling backwards. Dean cocked an eyebrow at his clothes, and his apple-green eyes lingered over Castiel's chest, before wandering back upwards. Something about Dean was strange though, he seemed angry, he seemed irritated, and the moment Dean barged into his house and shut the door behind, Castiel realised he was right. Dean was furious.

"What the fuck—" Strong fists crumpled the front of Castiel's t-shirt, and slammed him against the door, causing Castiel's shoulders to hurt and he let out a pained whine.

"You think you're being smart? Fuckin' fag, you think you're being smart?" Dean hissed, and pressed his palm into Castiel's chest, leaning into Castiel's space. His face followed Castiel's, and their eyes fixed onto each other, Dean's seething with anger, and Castiel's filled with confusion.

"What are you talking about?" Castiel asked, trying to compose himself as he tried to push Dean's arm away from his chest, but in vain.

"The calculus homework? You messed it up on purpose, didn't you?"

"What? No, I— I didn't— I swear—"

"Oh yeah? So what, Singer gave me a C for no reason at all?"

Castiel tried to protest, because hey, he clearly remembered copying the formula word to word into Dean's notebook, and he was sure the answer was right. He had stayed up late at night, way past his bedtime to write Dean's homework. How could Dean say otherwise? No, no, this had to be a mistake.

"Dean, I swear, I didn't—"

"What's this then?" Dean slapped a bundle of sheets against Castiel's chest, his teeth gritting as he let go of Castiel, towering above him fiercely. With his hands folded across his chest, Dean waited and watched, as Castiel grabbed the sheets and unfurled them. At the very top of the page, in bright red, was a C, and Castiel furrowed his eyebrows. "I—" He started, but the words died down on his throat the moment he flipped to the last page of the sheets.

In bright, bold red was a circle around the formula they were supposed to use, and Castiel noticed how the letters and the numbers had jumbled up.

"Yeah?" Dean prompted, and Castiel cowered against the door, sinking into his shoulders as he realised his mistake.

"Dean I— I'm so sorry— I stayed up late to finish it, but I must have been too tired and, I'm sorry," He mumbled, and hung his head, lips trembling, "—I won't do it again, I'm sorry—"

"Yeah? Aw, you made a wittle mistake? Are you gonna' cry now? Want me to kiss it better? Fucking idiot," Dean growled, and walked away, into the living room. Castiel followed after him, dejected and quiet, and lingered at the doorway, simply watching as Dean groaned, and lounged back against the couch, making himself comfortable.

"Mr. Singer wants me to re-do it," He said after a moment, and Castiel blinked his teary eyes up to look at Dean, who pushed himself off the couch, and turned around to meet Castiel's eyes, "-you know what that means?"

"That," Castiel gulped, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, "-that I have to do it for you again?"

"Glad you're quick on the uptake. Where's your room?"

"Up— upstairs."

Dean walked around the couch and brushed past Castiel into the passage, his boots stomping against the wood as he climbed up the set of stairs, and Castiel followed after him. He paused at the top of the stairs, and Castiel led him into the passage towards his bedroom.

"You're gonna' re-do my work. And I'm gonna' be watching you, smartass, so don't try bein' a bitch again."

Dean kicked his boots off his feet, and sprang himself down on Castiel's bed haphazardly, as if he owned the fucking place, and surfed through his phone, clicking and typing animatedly. Sighing, Castiel sat down at his desk and pulled out a pen. He grabbed a few sheets, and began writing down the question number, followed by the formula, and then, after a few minutes had passed in a strange silence between them, Dean spoke up.

His voice was filled with sadistic pleasure.

" _'I think blue just might be my color.'_ Oh, Christ, you're obsessed with this thing, aren't you?" Dean laughed, and Castiel froze. He wasn't sure why he was surprised to know Dean had seen his post. Maybe Dean was on OnlyPics too, and wait, did he follow Castiel? How was he able to see his post so quick? Usually, it would take people at least an hour to start commenting or liking the post. Unless. Dean was following Castiel— no, he must be stalking him for more blackmail. Fuck.

"Do you have a problem with that?"

"Nah," Dean chuckled, "-god, oh god, that's— you posted that twenty minutes ago? Damn, you must be an attention whore for _fucking_ sure. Hey, wait," He said suddenly, and his eyes lit up. Castiel _hated_ how wicked they looked. "-are you still wearing them? The panties?"

Heat crawled across every inch of Castiel's skin, and he kept his head down, writing silently, not bothering to pay Dean any heed as he felt himself blush furiously. Behind him, something rustled and shifted, and the next moment, Castiel's head was being yanked back until his eyes met Dean's.

"I asked you a question, bitch. Do you still have them on?"

"Y-yes—"

A laugh rumbled past Dean's throat, an evil, cruel laughter, and Castiel shivered at the sound of it. Dean flicked the back of Castiel's head before letting his hands fall away, and dropped himself down onto Castiel's bed again.

"You know, there's a reason I love torturing you, Novak. The look on your face? When you're being absolutely humiliated, absolutely suffering— it makes me feel so happy," He gave a content sigh, and Castiel remained silent, simply listening, "-here's what I want you to do."

Castiel jerked at that, and turned around in his seat, feeling Dean's disgusting eyes track over his body.

"I want you to take your pants off, throw them away somewhere, and sit in your bare underwear, right in front of me," His voice turned sour then, much to Castiel's surprise, "-You like showing your ass to people, huh, don't you? Go on, show me. Fucking slut."

And somehow, Castiel felt his cock twitch for a moment.

No, he reprimanded himself, Dean Winchester is a disgusting human being, who doesn't deserve an ounce of Castiel's attention. And yet, with Dean, who sat lingering at the edge of the bed, waiting and watching so intently, Castiel couldn't find it in himself to argue against him.

"What if I say no?"

"Then as you can see, I'm already on my phone. Take me just a second to post both now, the video _and_ the picture. Would you like that?"

Anger boiled in Castiel's veins, and yet, he forced himself to stay calm as he promptly stood up, stepped aside from his chair, and leaned forward to give Dean a show. Maybe if Dean was gay, he would have found it exciting. But he's simply a despicable, sadistic bastard who loves torturing Castiel, which is why he watched with such disgust in his hooded, narrow eyes that never left Castiel's body.

Hooking his fingers through his sweatpants, Castiel bent over and slowly, slid the pants down his slender, hairless legs, courtesy of his genes, and let Dean watch him. In the distance, Castiel could hear Dean suck in a shallow breath, and let it out weakly. Castiel stretched the elastic band of his panties, before letting it slap against his navel, and slipping down onto the chair with both feet spread apart. If Dean wanted to watch, he could gladly, and for the sole purpose of annoying Dean, Castiel rolled his hips back in the chair, and let his ass bounce as he pretended to adjust himself in his seat.

"Is this alright?" He asked, feigning innocence in his voice, and heard Dean gulp.

"It's alright. Why wouldn't it be? You like spreading your legs open for weird men, don't you? You probably even think of taking their wrinkly cocks too, don't you? God, you're a sick bastard."

"Don't you think you talk too much?" Castiel asked, and turned around to meet Dean at last. His face was pink, eyes were wide and dilated, and his lips were slick, as if he'd been licking them over and over again, and ah, he just licked them again—

"Stop looking at me like that, creep," He growled, but his voice had lost its edge. Castiel shrugged nonchalantly, and picked up his pen, leaning forward to write, but the moment he did, the fabric of the panties slipped inside his ass, rubbing over his taint. Two gasps rung through the room. One, understandably Castiel's, and the other—

Castiel snapped his head around to find Dean's eyes glued to the way Castiel's ass was spilling out from the small seat of his chair, and he froze for a moment, realising Dean had witnessed it— the fabric brushing against his taint— and he'd gasped too. Which meant he'd been as surprised as Castiel.

"I— I should get myself some pants—"

"Keep writing. Singer ain't gon' grade me for nothin'."

"O-okay."

Dejected, Castiel slouched down over his desk, and continued writing the equations, feeling Dean's eyes prick his skin with every passing second. For some reason, Castiel found himself liking the attention. Oh come on, who was he kidding? He thrived on attention. Especially Dean's, because he _hated_ Dean, and Dean _hated_ him. Occupying Dean's thoughts however, was what Castiel would consider a win in this unspoken charade of favours.

Just to tease Dean more, Castiel nudge his pen down onto the floor, making sure it reached deep under the desk, and gasping when it hit the ground.

"Oh," He feigned surprise, "-shit, my bad."

With one hand holding onto the edge of the desk, Castiel kneeled down on the ground— knees parted, hips raised, and his plump, juicy ass in clear view to Dean. Behind him, he heard Dean rustle against the bedsheet, making Castiel smirk. Castiel wiggled his ass, knowing how the fabric of the panties had sunk between his ass cheeks, and how all it would take was a single jerk to put his hole on display. He talked aloud to himself, "-oh, oh no, Dean I don't think I can reach it, can you come help me?"

"Just get a new pen," Dean grumbled, pointedly averting his gaze, and Castiel grinned to himself, "-oh," He pouted, "—but this is my favourite pen."

"For fuck sake," Dean growled, and before Castiel knew it, there were hands gripping his hips, yanking him out, and Castiel stumbled back, sitting on his butt, grinning to himself as he watched Dean crouch down and reach for the pen. He must have found it, because he pulled back and shoved the pen into Castiel's hand, "-loser," He grumbled, and Castiel noticed the swollen bulge in his jeans, but decided not to comment.

Castiel returned to his seat at the desk, and wrote down the conclusion to the equation, before handing it back to Dean.

"All done. It's the right one, this time," He said, and sent Dean a beaming smile.

"Stop smiling, you look like an idiot."

Castiel's smile dropped in an instant, and he huffed, turning his head away from Dean, who read through the notes.

"Good," He quirked a lip, "-next time, don't fuck up. I made you keep your panties on this time, next time I won't."

And that's when Castiel realised.

Oh. Dean thought forcing Castiel to expose himself was _humiliating_ for Castiel. But what he didn't know, was that Castiel was _loving_ it. He loved the attention, the humiliation, the vulgarity of it all. And Dean thought he hated it.

Unbidden, a laugh slipped past Castiel's lips, and Dean, sent him a look.

"What's funny, fag?"

"Nothing," Castiel answered, "-you should go home now."

"Of course I am," Dean hissed, "-don't want people to think I slept with a cocksucker."

Castiel smiled, and watched as Dean swaggered down the stairs. The front door shut with a loud clamour, and a moment later, Castiel was pushing his panties off, and climbing onto bed with a bottle of lube.

Poor Dean. He thought he'd figured out Castiel. Oh please. It was far from the truth. But for now, Castiel wondered, he was happy to play along with Dean's misunderstanding.


	3. Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early surprise. Previous update date was 10th February, but I finished these two chapters earlier, so here you go. 😄

Dean groaned as he shoved a pillow between his thighs. It was a Saturday morning, and he wasn't quite sure what time it was, probably somewhere around dawn, but the sun hadn't risen yet. His room was cosy, the perfect blend between not-too cold and not-too warm, and yet, heat crawled across his skin, hair tingling, nerves crackling and pressure building in his gut. He knew what he'd find when he looked down, another morning of his boxers bulging at the front with morning wood. Sighing, but not wanting to open his eyes or leave the warmth of his bed, he shoved a hand into his underwear and wrapped it around his thick, heated cock— already quite hard and leaking at the tip.

_Fuck,_ he mumbled, and let his imagination run wild with the thoughts of wavy, long hair, big round tits, a small, curvy waist with sharp hipbones, a firm, bouncy ripe ass, clad with lacy blue panties, slender hairless legs and a small, pink cock that nudged against—

For a moment, he froze. No. No, he did not just fantasize about— about— about fuckin' _Novak_ , did he?

Damn it, he thought, it's all his fault for roaming around in those obscene little things. Hmph, did you see the size of them? Castiel could have worn a loincloth for all it's worth and it would have been more modest.

In his mind, Dean could see, clear as day, the moment from the day before, when he'd been watching Novak, and the moment he had leaned forward on his desk, the thin strap at the back of his panties had slipped between his ass. _God-fucking-dammit_ , what the fuck was Dean supposed to do? He had let out a gasp already, and Castiel had realised that he'd seen it. It had been awkward as heck, and then there had been the fucking pen. Who owns a single pen in a huge fucking house? And _why_ would anyone like a pen? Dean knew Castiel was trying to seduce him, the fag that he was, Dean knew very well how Castiel must have fucked his fingers thinking of Dean's words. He knew Castiel must be thinking that Dean had misunderstood him, when in fact, Dean had figured him out the moment he'd first spoken to him on the restricted area of the school.

Castiel Novak was a slut. Contrary to the goody-two shoes, studious, dedicated, holier-than-thou mask he donned every morning at school, Castiel Novak was a whore, and he'd spread his legs open for anyone. Which is why Dean loved shaming him. He knew Castiel got off on the humiliation. He just wanted to toy with the _way_ Castiel got off.

Even then, as Dean's body floated towards his climax, his mind could comprehend nothing but a small, brunet twink.

 _Dean, w-what are you doing?_ The Castiel in his fantasy seemed timid as always, his raven-black hair a mess, and he wore nothing but the blue-panties (yes, _those_ ones), and Dean's oversized varsity jacket which hung ill-fitting on his shoulders. He laid back on what Dean imagined to be a bed, and he squeezed his legs shut, as if trying to resist.

The feigned innocence, the stuttering, the reluctance— Dean knew it was an act.

 _Wh-why are you touching me?_ Dream-Castiel asked, as Dean imagined sliding those panties down his silky legs.

"'Cause you want me to, slut," Dean groaned out loud into his pillow, as his hand pumped faster at his cock, bringing him closer to his orgasm.

 _B-but I— ah—_ Castiel would have the best moans, Dean mused, paired with his deep, velvet voice that felt like whiskey, every moan— breathy or whiny, would sound like an absolute treat.

He couldn't wait any longer, as he imagined himself thrusting into a particularly naked Castiel, who held onto a pillow under his face, biting his lip and jerking with every thrust, letting out the sweetest moans as Dean thrust, harder and harder, and with a loud groan of _Cas_ , came inside him. His eyes flashed white, and every single thought in his mind dissipated as he fluttered his eyes open and glanced down at the sticky, wet mess of come on his fingers.

Regret washed over him almost instantly. Not only had he fantasized about a man, which was disgusting, by the way, but he'd fantasized about Castiel fucking Novak, who was the biggest fag Dean had ever seen, and yeah, Dean hated the guy, hated how he was all reserved and pretentious, never talking to anyone, never hanging outside school, never straying away from his work— it was a fuckin' act, and Dean knew it always had been.

 _Oh, fuck me,_ Dean grumbled, and sat up, rubbing his groggy eyes with his clean hand, reaching to the side to wipe his hand on a tissue at the sidetable. He swung the covers off his body, and walked out into the shower, already feeling his dick harden again. Fuck high libido, man, fuck puberty in general. Cursing to himself, Dean hopped into the shower, and stepped out exactly fifteen minutes later with his hair washed, teeth brushed, and face glowing. He felt good, and a glance at the clock showed him it was somewhere around eight in the morning. He ambled down into the kitchen and fired up the stove, grabbing himself some coffee from the Keurig before grabbing a few eggs from the fridge. Sam would be up soon, and he'd need his veggie breakfast (eugh) before he went off cycling around the neighborhood with his friends.

Footsteps pattered down the staircase, and Dean knew at once who it was. It was his father, and at once, Dean's cheery demeanor dissolved into nothing as he broke a few eggs onto the pan, watching them sizzle.

"Morning," John grumbled, and Dean glanced at him.

"Morning dad."

"You makin' eggs? Again? Didn't we have those yesterday too?"

Dean gulped at the bitterness in his father's voice, and kept his head down.

"Sorry. It's all we had."

John grumbled to himself before grabbing the news paper, and flipping it open, "-you added too much salt last time. Don't do that again. I thought a boy your age woulda' had some common sense, but no."

Dean stood silent, hoping to let John's words fade from his mind as he hummed in answer, and threw some bacon onto the pan.

Right as Dean scooped the eggs'n'bacon onto a dish, the doorbell rang. John continued reading the news, not making a single effort to move, which left Dean with no choice but to scamper over to the front door. He swung it open, and standing before him, in a plain, beige cardigan and jeans, was Castiel, a backpack hung on one shoulder. Dean's eyes widened, as thoughts from the morning came rushing to his mind.

"Good morning, Dean," Castiel smiled, and Dean stepped back with a frown on his face. Great. First dad started the day with his usual taunts, and now _this_ weirdo showed up at Dean's door.

"I saw your face, it ain't good anymore," Dean grumbled, and waited for Castiel to step in. Castiel's smile dropped, and for a moment Dean regretted saying that, but he couldn't turn back time, and the silence between them had now turned sour.

"I just—"

"Who's at the door?" John shouted from inside the kitchen, and Dean sighed.

"A friend o'mine."

"What? What's your fuckin' friend want at eight in the morning?"

Dean raised his eyebrows at Castiel and folded his arms across his chest, as if to say _heard that?_ And Castiel dug into his backpack to take out a few composition notebooks. Dean's notebooks.

"I erm, I was going for a walk this morning, I erm, I needed some air and I thought I'd give you your notebooks too, so you could have ample time to study for the test on Monday, because surely, you don't expect me to write both yours _and_ mine in front of the teacher, do you?"

Dean flipped through the notebooks, quirking a lip when he noticed the neat, round handwriting dotting the pages. And then it dawned on him.

"You brought these here so I could study sooner?"

"Yes," Castiel nodded, and Dean noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

_Dean I— I'm so sorry— I stayed up late to finish it, but I must have been too tired and, I'm sorry._

Something inside Dean tugged at him for a moment, and he couldn't put a finger on what it was as he swallowed his words down.

"Did you stay up late for these too?"

Castiel's eyes wandered down to the floor as he fidgeted with the hem of his cardigan, an action Dean had noticed Castiel do every time he was nervous, "-well, I had to, I mean, but I swear, there's no mistake, not in a single one—"

Oh. So that's why he was nervous. Because he thought Dean would humiliate him again.

"Thank you," Dean said in a breath, and couldn't believe for a moment that he'd said it, but it was too late to turn back, and Castiel's eyes had already lit up, but Dean simply turned away to avoid him.

"Eggs are burnin'," John yelled from the top of his lungs, and Dean's eyes widened with panic as he scampered into the kitchen and saw the light puff of smoke floating in the air. All the while, John sat stock-still, reading the news, completely unfazed, and Dean opened up the window clear the smoke out of the kitchen. Whatever. He'll have these for himself. He'll make Sam a new batch.

"Where's your pal?"

Dean paused, and turned back. Was Castiel waiting for him or something? Idiot. He ran into the passageway with loud, stomping footsteps, only to find Sam and Castiel laughing with each other by the door. Sam spoke animatedly about something, something to do with astronomy, and Castiel nodded, eyes watching Sam intently. Sam finished, and Castiel agreed with him in full enthusiasm as his face brightened, and he began rambling about something, some new invention or whatever.

But watching them. It was nice. It wasn't always that Sam got along with people Dean's age. Right as Dean thought to turn away and let Sam and Castiel speak alone, Sam caught him sneaking, and called him out. As expected, Castiel's eyes snapped over to him.

"Dude," Sam called out, "-how'd you end up with Cas?"

"What?" Dean huffed, and folded his arms across his chest, eyeing both Castiel and Sam.

"I mean, all of your friends, they're total shitbags, each one of them. But Castiel? He's so cool? We were just talking about the Hubble right now."

"Novak ain't my friend," Dean sighed, and sent Castiel a sharp glare.

"Ah, that explains it," Sam mused, and Castiel snorted, suppressing a laugh when he found Dean's cold eyes, "-great, so you won't mind us being friends, right?"

"Woah, hold it— Novak? Dude, have some standards—"

"Dean, why are you being so rude?" Sam's words, his raised voice, the teary, puppy expression on Castiel's face, it brought Dean crashing back to the present, and he wondered why he was being so touchy this morning.

"I—"

"It's alright, erm, I don't mind," Castiel sighed, "-Anyway, I should be leaving. Have a good day Sam," A beat passed, "-Dean."

Dean watched Castiel, who walked down their driveway, with his head hung down, a soft, pink glow on his face, Dean felt his stomach churn for a moment. Perhaps, the real Castiel was nothing like the one in Dean's dreams. He was brighter, and prettier, and much more delicate than Dean had thought, not by nature, but by features. And maybe, Castiel always had been beautiful. He ran his fingers through his hair, before disappearing around the corner of the block, and Dean stood there, numb, wondering why he couldn't think of anything but Castiel.

"Dean, please, just stop hanging out with Alistair and his gang of crooks. You're not a delinquent. Stop acting like one. You're better than this." Sam sighed, utter disgust on his face, and Dean watched as he dashed out the door.

"Sammy, your breakf—"

"I'm not hungry."

Dean watched as Sam hopped onto his bicycle, and drove down the pavement, turning right around the corner.

All he could do was stand, and hear his father's sharp grumbling from the kitchen.


	4. Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for mentions of child abuse.

Standing at Castiel Novak's door at four in the evening with a bunch of books in his hands was not what Dean had planned for his Sunday. He thought he would cook himself a big ole' American brunch, watch some porn, jerk off, and eventually, study. But that's not what he did. The moment he woke up, John had pestered him about lazing around, and Dean found out they were out of eggs and coffee. His laptop crashed, and he realised watching porn was out of question. Of course, that didn't stop him from jerking off, he had quite the imagination, but when it came to studying, the second he opened his notebook, his mind went as blank as a slate, and he sighed, waited for two seconds, before deciding to walk over to Novak's house, and ask him to tutor him. Of course, it wouldn't be _just_ an ask. If Novak said no, Dean knew already what strings he had to pull.

Surprisingly, when Castiel opened the door, the first thing he asked Dean was, "-what happened to your face?"

Dean blinked, and stared at him strangely before following Castiel's eyes.

"Oh, this?" He asked in turn, pressing his finger against the dark, purple bruise under his right eye, evidence of the slap John had struck on his face the night before, "-erm—"

"Another fight?" Castiel asked, as if exasperated, and his shoulders drooped as he moved aside to let Dean in. Dean swallowed nervously, and followed him inside wordlessly.

"I swear, I will never understand what is so exciting about fighting people, about beating them up and—" Castiel was rambling, but Dean couldn't be less bothered, as he grabbed Castiel's hand, and yanked him back. Castiel yelped, and turned around, crashing straight into Dean's chest as their eyes met, and Dean hitched a breath. Close, they were too close, and Dean let his hand fall away from Castiel's arm as he stepped back. It wasn't until a few seconds later, when Castiel uttered a soft _what_ , that Dean spoke up.

"I need you to help me with the test."

"I already wrote the notes for you, what more do you need me to do?" Castiel asked, as he watched Dean intently.

"Tutor me."

"I have to study for my own—"

"Novak," Dean growled, "-help me. I don't want to keep threatening you."

"But you like it, don't you?" Castiel shot back, just as sharp, "-threatening me? It gets your dick throbbing, doesn't it?"

"Disgusting," Dean spat, "-I ain't a cocksucker like you. Thinking of you is the last thing I'd get off to."

"Pity," Castiel quirked a lip, and Dean watched as he bounced his shoulder with a smirk, "-I'm very sexy."

_Fucker._

Their gazes held for a second, and Dean could feel the electricity crackle between them. Dean wasn't going to back down first, and Castiel sure didn't seem like he was either, which left Dean with no choice but to continue staring. Only when Castiel's eyes dropped down to glance at Dean's lip did Dean falter, and slouched back, dejected. Castiel smirked, bastard that he was, before sighing, and holding a hand towards the staircase.

"After you," He said, and Dean climbed up the set of stairs, listening to Castiel's footsteps patter on the staircase behind him. His feet carried him towards the room he'd been in on Friday, and the moment they were inside, Castiel shut the door behind them, and pressed himself back against the door, simply watching as Dean flung himself onto the bed, kicking his boots off and letting them fall at the foot of the bed. He sighed, and tossed his notebooks across the sheets, suddenly engulfed with a soft, minty, fragrant scent, which undoubtedly had to be Castiel's, and now that Dean noticed it, _goddamn_ , it was everywhere.

"Wow, way to make yourself comfortable," Castiel shrugged, and pulled the seat out at his desk.

"Saw your post crossed twenty-five thousand hearts on OnlyPics. Lotta' people wanna' fuck you. You must be in heaven, yeah?" Dean smirked, watching as Castiel flipped a notebook open, and skimmed through it.

"What can I say? I'm famous," Castiel smiled, and part of Dean wanted to punch the smile right off his delicate fucking face, but he kept his urges in control, instead, sitting up on Castiel's bed and taking his jacket off to toss it on the floor.

Dean's eyes wandered around the room. He hadn't seen much of it the last time he was here, well, mostly because, erm, his eyes hadn't been able to leave Castiel, and then the fag had the nerve to bend over. Goddammit, it wasn't supposed to make Dean hard, it really wasn't, and Dean was sure Castiel had seen his boner, which made it all-the-more worse. But now that he noticed, his room was quite simple. Books marked along the shelves, a simple desk set-up, a few lights— nothing seemed personal about it.

"So," Castiel started, "-what do you need help with?"

Dean considered for a moment.

"Everything."

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean, and flipped over through the sample questionnaire, before sucking in a breath and handing it over to Dean.

"I've marked all the questions which are most probable to be asked in the test tomorrow. It's a hour-long quiz, which means you will have at least three to four long questions, and at least fifteen objective questions. You should be able to score a good grade if you study these. Okay?"

Dean sat, shell-shocked for a moment at Castiel's gentle voice, as if he genuinely wanted to help Dean. Or maybe, he just always spoke to everyone like this. Kind. Patient. Advising. As disturbing as it was to admit, it was the first time in many years that somebody had said something to Dean so _nicely_.

Castiel's eyes met his, and Dean tried to let the words in his mind come out of his throat, but they simply wouldn't, and all he could do was marvel at Castiel.

"What is it?"

"T-thanks," Dean managed to mumble, before turning his face down to hide it on the pretence of reading the questionnaire.

A few moments must have passed, before Dean found a question he didn't understand, and he turned to Castiel. Castiel sighed for a moment, before hopping off the seat and onto the bed. He scooched his butt towards Dean, and sat with his back pressed against the wall, leaning into Dean's space, and although it didn't seem intentional, Dean could feel the warmth of his body radiating towards him, and he breathed in Castiel's gentle, minty scent, before letting his eyes wander down to the questionnaire.

"Here—" Castiel said, and began rattling off about something— something Dean couldn't understand, since his eyes had never left Castiel, who spoke animatedly and very wisely about something. Something that Dean was supposed to be studying, "—and that's why we have to read through the chapter at least once."

Castiel had stopped speaking. Dean couldn't look away.

"Dean?" Castiel asked, and waved a hand before Dean's face.

"Y-yeah?"

"Did you understand?" He asked with a sigh, and Dean, cleared his throat and shook his head. Castiel groaned, and leaned into Dean's shoulder to grab the book out of his hands. Their fingers brushed, and Dean froze. Castiel though, seemed to be rambling about something quite nonchalantly, as if the spark when their skin touched hadn't bothered him at all. Dean blinked dumbly at Castiel, who for some reason, laughed, and instantly, Dean's mood went from a ten to a zero.

"What's funny, fag?"

"You, I mean, why do you look like you've never studied before? It's easy, I've been telling you for the past fifteen minutes."

"Oh yeah? Well, you're doin' a shit job at tutoring me." Dean clicked his tongue, and shoved the book away. He didn't mean to pout, but somehow, it felt humiliating, not being as smart as Castiel, and he kept his eyes glued to the pillow under him. A weight settled against his shoulder, and Dean fluttered his eyes open to find Castiel laying face-first into the pillow beside him, so close their breaths almost mingled. Dean wanted to pull away, he really did, but it would have disturbed Castiel, and Cas looked serene, with his eyes shut and shallow breaths puffing in the air.

But the next moment, Castiel opened his eyes, and met Dean's at once. Their breaths hitched, and yet neither of them pulled away, simply staring at each other, before Castiel's eyes dropped down to Dean's cheekbone, and he grazed the tip of his finger across the bruise. Dean winced, but couldn't find it in himself to move away.

"Does it hurt?"

"A bit," He whispered, to which Castiel sat up, and leapt of the bed, walking over to his dressing drawer to rummage through it, searching for something, before returning with a bandage and some ointment. Dean didn't sit up, and Castiel never asked him to. The silence between them felt almost palpable, and Dean found himself once again in awe of Castiel, who despite being ridiculed and hurt by Dean not once, not twice but countless times, managed to be the sweetest person Dean knew.

"Here," Castiel said, and rubbed some ointment over his cheekbone. The gel was cold but soothing, and Dean furrowed his eyebrows at the sting of the bruise. Something lay over his skin, and he opened his eyes to find Castiel focused on to his cheek, pressing a bandaid onto the bruise, "-I don't know if this will help at all, but something's better than nothing."

Maybe it was an act. Maybe Castiel was just trying to score brownie points with Dean, in hopes that Dean would suddenly undergo a change of heart and delete the pictures from his phone. But he wouldn't. He realised just why Castiel was being so kind to him. It had to be an act.

"You know, no matter how nice you are to me, I ain't gon' delete those pictures."

Castiel seemed, much to Dean's horror, unfazed by the warning.

"Hmm," he hummed, "-keep them. I'm not doing this so you delete the pictures. I just couldn't bear to see the bruise. It weirds me out."

Dean went silent for a minute.

"You're crazy, you know that?"

Castiel smiled.

"I'm beginning to."

With an exasperated eye roll, Dean sat up, and found himself right in Castiel's space. Just a few inches more, and goddamn, he'd be able to taste him, to kiss him. Castiel might be a good kisser, maybe. Or maybe not, since he might never have had practical experience before. Besides, his lips were too chap for someone who was used to kissing. Chapstick. Chapstick would do him good.

"When are you leaving?" Castiel asked, which brought Dean staggering back to reality.

"Erm, now, in a while, I mean."

"Alright. Do you want some coffee?"

Dean paused to consider, "-kay."

Castiel shifted off the bed, and walked over to the door, however, before he could leave, Dean reached out to grab him by the wrist, and Castiel jerked around.

"It doesn't matter how good you are to me, Novak, don't fuckin' suck up to me at school. I'll beat the shit out of you."

"Me? Suck up to you? Oh please, Dean," Castiel laughed, his eyes crinkling at the side, "-I have standards."

Castiel left the room with a smirk, and as offended as Dean might have been with Castiel's taunt, he couldn't help but smile.

_Fucker._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Update:  
> 11th February, 2021.


	5. Castiel.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Vague implications of rape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist posting this chapter. However, chapter 6 will follow the schedule.

Monday came as slow as molasses. Saturday was spent with Castiel eating Chinese take-out for breakfast, lunch and dinner, and the hours he wasn't eating, he was studying. One whole Sunday went the same. Except he managed to find time to finger himself dry on Sunday, before Dean ended up at his doorstep, wanting to be tutored. He wouldn't call himself a sex-addict, but he was a teenager with a crazy libido, and he just so happened to have a room to himself, uninterrupted. Besides, he had OnlyPics. The comments on his blue-panties post had broken his record of three thousand comments, earning him almost four thousand five hundred comments over the span of two days. Self-esteem wise, Castiel was thriving.

Which is why when he skipped his way into class at eight on a Monday morning, ready for the History test, he had a smile on his face. His uniform was tidy as always, and his hair brushed and artfully tousled, not a spick on his polished leather boots.

But his self-esteem crumbled the moment he spotted Dean, sitting on the desk right behind Castiel. Castiel's smile vanished, replaced with a frown, and he trotted over to his desk, trying not to pay Dean any heed as he settled down with his books. Dean seemed to be engrossed with his own affairs though, as a girl, Lisa? Lisa Braden, maybe, sat in his lap, playing with his hair. Her uniform was unbuttoned at the top, giving a clear view of her huge, C-cupped tits, and Castiel smirked to himself. Whatever. He wasn't the one trying to hide a boner on Friday after looking at a twink in panties, was he now? 

It must have been a few minutes after Castiel had begun assembling his books when Castiel felt a flick to the back of his head, and he jerked in place, before turning around to glare at Dean.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"Nothing," Dean shrugged, evidently amused at having elicited a reaction from Castiel, "-just wanted to annoy you."

"Oh," Castiel mumbled, and his eyes narrowed at Dean, before he turned away and back to face the blackboard.

A minute must have passed at the most, when Castiel felt a finger poke his shoulder. This time, he refrained from giving into Dean's antics.

"Hey, Novak," Dean called, and Castiel could practically see the wicked grin that must be curled on his lips, "-your panties blew up on OnlyPics. I mean, fifty thousand hearts? Can I expect to see you on PornHub now?"

Castiel grit his teeth, and sucked in a short breath, fists curling into a clench, but he didn't look back. Nope, he wouldn't spare a single glance.

"You know," Dean started, "-I'm genuinely confused. Like I mean, genuinely. Why do you like that shit so much? What, do your parents not love you enough or somethin'? Don't you have friends? Oh wait, you don't." A vicious laugh rumbled past Dean's lips. Castiel felt his lips twitch, and he tried to suppress the anger coursing through him. Anger, because he knew Dean was right. Castiel's parents couldn't be less bothered about him, all they cared for was an A on his report card. And friends? Please, as if anybody had even tried to speak to Castiel. He wasn't quite approachable himself, opening up took a long time, and he'd often lose himself in his own company. It was how he had lived for the past seventeen years. Why would it be any different now?

"Alright, class, pens out, let's get some notes down," Ms. Barnes said at last, and Castiel let his eyes wander over to her, blinking back the urge to cry. Absently, his eyes wandered down to his wrist, and he rubbed the sleeve of his uniform over his pulse, before glancing back up at Ms. Barnes.

"Let's get to character studies of Hamlet, starting with Hamlet himself. Can I get some answers?"

Castiel threw his hand up.

English passed on quietly, with Dean not teasing or annoying Castiel again. Castiel, to his credit, made sure to note down all important points in class, but behind him, he could feel Dean wasting time, chattering, swiping chits, chuckling and such. He paid him no mind as he kept to his business.

Next came Calculus, where Dean flicked him in the head once, before laughing out loud.

Then came Chemistry, Biology, and then there was recess, where everybody but Castiel flooded into the cafeteria.

Castiel sighed, and grabbed his History workbook with him as he slipped out of the empty classroom, and sneaked his way into the emergency staircase, where he climbed up to the abandoned third floor, the same place he had taken several of his OnlyPics hits, and discreetly, pulled his phone and earphones out of his pocket. He decided to go to the terrace, which was attached to the third floor. The terrace was Castiel's favourite hideout, since the railing was made out of solid concrete, and when Castiel sat huddled against it in the corner, _nobody_ could ever find him. It was his own, comfortable bubble of solitude, and nothing would take it away from him.

Quietly, he plugged his earphones into the earphone jack, and pressed play on his favourite playlist. At once, Led Zeppelin's Tangerine blasted through the earphones, and he hummed along to the tune. He grabbed his workbook, and flipped open to the chapter they were being tested on after lunch. It was their last lecture for the day, after which they would be on their way home. Castiel skimmed through the questions, feeling his memory jog and the images from the night before flashed clearly in his mind.

Dean had been so close to him. Too close to him. But the bruise— Castiel hated how it stained Dean's perfect, Adonis face. And Castiel knew there had to be something behind it, some story, some reason Dean wasn't willing to share. Castiel wasn't going to push the limit. Dean already had him wrapped around his finger, Castiel wasn't going to risk it.

Perhaps he had been _too_ lost in his thoughts, because he never noticed the footsteps echoing on the floor, approaching closer and closer, until a hand reached down and snatched his workbook away, and Castiel snapped his wide, appalled eyes up at the person standing before him. And who would it be but Dean Winchester in the flesh?

"Who studies on a break?" Dean laughed, and tossed the book back into Castiel's hands before slipping down next to him, and fishing something out of his pocket. Castiel sighed, and scooted to the side, although he realised Dean had sandwiched him between his body and the wall.

"Hello to you too, Dean," Castiel deadpanned, before narrowing his eyes at Dean, who seemed to be fidgeting with something in his hand, "—why won't you leave me alone, for _five fucking minutes?_ "

"Eh," Dean shrugged, "-bothering you is fun." He plastered a wide, charming, _annoying_ grin on his face, and Castiel rolled his eyes. Castiel flipped his workbook shut, and set it aside, instead watching as Dean brought a cigarette up to his lips, and tried to light the end with a small, green lighter.

"Are you going to sit here and smoke?"

"Well, I usually take a smoke after school, but I saw you sneak in here, so I thought I'd come with you." He answered, and Castiel hummed with a roll of his eyes.

"Wow, how sweet of you."

"Yeah, I'm awesome," Dean chuckled, and let some smoke slip past his lips. Castiel scrunched his nose in disgust, and turned his head away with a frown.

"You think you're funny?"

"I think I'm adorable."

It was this strange, mischievous expression on Dean's face, like he _knew_ Castiel wasn't really angry at him, like he knew just what he was doing, and being all smug about it, and Castiel didn't know if he hated Dean, or perhaps, even _liked_ Dean in that moment, nevertheless, he rolled his eyes, and slapped the workbook against his face, trying to suppress the heat rising at his cheeks. Dean didn't budge, simply tossed the workbook aside, and took another drag of his cigarette. It was strange watching someone smoke from up close, but with the intensity in Dean's eyes, it seemed too natural for him, as if he'd been doing it for ages.

Castiel turned away, glad Dean had gone silent, since it allowed him a moment to change the song on his playlist. Tangerine faded into Black Dog, and Castiel smiled. It was one of his favourites, and he could listen to it for hours at end. But the action seemed to have caught Dean's attention, who pressed into Castiel's side and tried to peek into his phone, "-whatcha' listenin' to? Your little fruity, gay music?" He laughed, "-Lady Gaga? Madonna?"

Before Castiel could correct him, Dean was yanking an earphone out of his ear, and plugging it into his own ear.

It was downright _comedic_ how Dean's face changed at the drop of a hat.

"Zeppelin?"

Eyes wide, mouth hung open, and his cigarette trembling between his fingers, almost of the verge of falling, Dean gaped at Castiel, absolutely stunned, and Castiel simply stared at him.

"Do you consider Led Zeppelin as _fruity, gay_ music? If so, then yes."

"Don't you dare call Zeppelin gay, I'll beat the shit out of you."

Castiel snorted, obviously amused at the fact that Dean had changed his demeanor almost instantly, and that his voice had lost the bite it always had to it. His eyes roamed across Castiel's face, but Castiel knew he was listening to the music; that he was listening to the lyrics, he could read Dean's face like an open book.

"Didn't peg you for a classic rock guy."

"Well, I didn't peg you for an asshole, but here we are."

Dean narrowed his eyes at Castiel, before flicking him in the head, and Castiel let out a soft, annoyed whine to which Dean laughed. As the song progressed, both Castiel and Dean bobbed their head in silence, and Castiel caught Dean muttering along the lyrics of the song to himself, eyes shut and face full of passion.

It was cute. Not very. Just, a tiny bit.

Okay, whatever, it was _adorable_.

The song ended, and Dean's eyes fluttered open to settle onto Castiel. "-what else do you listen to?"

Castiel considered it for a moment, "-hmm... Queen, ACDC, Lynyrd Skynyrd... Mm... Pink Floyd... Oh, Aerosmith—"

Dean's eyes lit up with excitement, and he crushed the butt of his cigarette onto the floor, before folding his legs into his lap and facing Castiel, like a puppy watching its owner, and Castiel almost smiled at how exalted Dean looked.

"Dude, really? Me too, I mean, I'm a Zeppelin fan, have been for years now. And yeah, Aerosmith, ACDC, that's all good stuff."

"It is," Castiel smiled, and let his head rest back against the wall as he shuffled his playlist, and Dean sat pressed to Castiel's side, shoulder to shoulder, and they listened to the song bloom into the chorus, with Dean drumming his fingers against his thigh, and Castiel tapping his foot.

"Physical Graffiti is _the_ best Zeppelin album of all time," Dean remarked, and Castiel let out a unsatisfied hum.

"Well, it's only the most mainstream album. Music-wise, Zeppelin IV is _the_ best. I mean, come on, Jimmy's riffs? In each song? Impeccable."

Their eyes met, and some of the tension between them seemed to have eased away as Dean shrugged, and gnawed at his lip in thought, "-I still think Physical Graffiti is their greatest. Dude, Kashmir? Ten Years Gone? Houses of the Holy? Those are irreplaceable songs, y'know," Dean argued, and already Castiel realised, they weren't going to agree, but he still tried his best to convince Dean otherwise.

"But," Castiel sat up, and turned to Dean, "-every song on Zeppelin IV is a masterpiece. Rock and Roll? Black Dog? Stairway to Heaven? Misty Mountain Hop? When the Levee Breaks? Gem after gem— they're Zeppelin's most critically iconic songs?!"

Castiel watched as Dean's face softened, and he quirked his lips, not fully convinced, but considering, and Castiel's skin thrummed with excitement as he took out his other earphone, wiped it on his trouser, and plugged it into Dean's other ear, "-listen," Is all he said, before pressing play on Led Zeppelin IV, the complete album. He leaned in closer into Dean's space, trying to listen in on some traces of the song. Unexpectedly, Dean leaned in closer, so close that a single inch forward and their lips would have brushed. But the action seemed innocent, simply to aid Castiel's listening.

So lost in his struggle to change Dean's mind, Castiel barely realised how quickly time had passed by, and it wasn't until the school bell rang a second later, that Castiel jerked back in surprise, but even more surprising, were Dean's hands holding his waist to keep him from stumbling backwards. Their eyes met for a moment, Dean's intense and stern, and Castiel swallowed nervously, before mumbling a _thank you_ and pulling away.

"So," Castiel asked, grabbing his workbook as Dean pushed himself to his feet, and handed him his phone and earphones, "-what do you think?"

Dean sighed, and yet, Castiel could see his eyes soften. "I hate to admit it, but you're right."

Castiel beamed at him, punching a fist into the air as he chuckled, and found Dean staring at him, a strangely gentle (very un-Dean-like) expression in his eyes. "I knew it," Castiel grinned smugly, folding his arms across his chest, "-I was right."

"Okay whatever," Dean rolled his eyes before mumbling a soft, "-idiot," And grabbed Castiel by the shoulders to turn him around, towards the door to the exit, "-now, we have to be at class in five."

Castiel, still giddy about his win, as trivial as it may be, walked out the door and into the emergency stairwell with Dean following after him. They spoke about some of Queen's music, and in a very decent, civilised manner at that (surprisingly), before wandering towards their classroom, shoulders pressed and faces bright as they slipped into their classroom. Having a _normal_ conversation with Dean was strange, extremely weird, since Castiel had shown him his literal panties two days ago, but it felt warm nonetheless. Dean was good at keeping the conversation flowing, and Castiel was bouncing on his feet with each step, speaking to Dean with such fervour, as if Dean had hung the moon for him.

"—Oh, oh, Back In Black is _the_ best ACDC album by the way," Castiel rambled on, and Dean, to his credit, listened to each of his rambling quietly, with a fond, soft look.

"That's true, Back In Black had the most sales, it's a universally acknowledged, best of all-time—"

"Winchester."

At once, Dean and Castiel paused, and found sitting on Castiel's desk, Alastair, Dean's friend and the most _perverted_ person Castiel had ever seen. He sat on Castiel's seat with his feet propped up on the table, and Castiel found himself cowering slightly behind Dean, reaching almost absently for his arm. Alastair had never sat right with Castiel. In fact, Castiel suspected Alastair had even molested plenty of girls at school, but he'd threatened them too much to ever let them complain. His crooked smile, his hungry, blood-thirsty eyes, and his thin, yet towering build had always caused Castiel to go mum before him. The few times Castiel had been compelled to work with Alastair, the boy had turned Castiel's life into a living nightmare, by always groping his butt, gripping his jaw too tightly, and twisting his arms.

Perhaps it was why Castiel tried to seek Dean's refuge. Somewhere in his heart, he hoped Dean would stand up for him.

"You been hangin' with this homo a lot lately. What, you been tryin' out some ass? Got tired of pussy?" Alastair laughed, and his two sidekicks, Nick and Gordon, laughed in accord. Dean rolled his eyes and shook his head.

"Just roughening him up. Stole some cash off the fag." It was obviously a lie, and Castiel realised sooner than he liked, that hanging out with Castiel was _embarrassing_ for Dean. It shouldn't have hurt as much as it did. Come on, they weren't even friends.

"So you won't mind us playing with him then?" Alastair asked, and Castiel caught his sharp, predatory glare, which had a shiver running down Castiel's spine.

_Please, please just say something, Dean, please—_

"All yours."

Without another word, Dean slipped back into his seat, pointedly avoiding Castiel's eyes, and Castiel noticed how being with Alastair had caused him to shift his demeanor so quickly. From soft and funny to cold and brutish.

"C-can you go back to your seat, A-Alastair?" Castiel stuttered, and hung his head down, not wanting to meet Alastair's eye.

"Awh, look at him. He's stuttering. Do I scare you, fag?"

Castiel didn't answer.

A strong hand gripped his jaw and thick, slender fingers dug into his skin, almost leaving a bruise, compelling him to look up. It was Alastair, and his face had inched closer to Castiel's, so close Castiel could smell his stale, disgusting breath, and he winced at the pain stinging his skin.

"I asked you something."

"P-please, j—just—"

The door to the classroom swung open, and the rest of the class scampered back to their seats as their History teacher, Mr. Frank, walked into the classroom with his cold, rigid glare sweeping across the students. Alastair's hand on Castiel's jaw fell away, and Castiel brought his own hand up to soothe some of the pain as he watched Alastair click his tongue and leap off Castiel's desk.

"Saved by Devereaux," He sighed, and his sidekicks, Nick and Gordon, brushed past Castiel roughly, bumping against his shoulders, before at last, Alastair walked past him. For a moment, he paused beside Castiel, and leaned into his ear. Castiel froze, his body tensing up in anticipation of something rough—

"Wait till I get you alone. You'll have to beg me to stop."

Alastair vanished behind him, and yet, Castiel stood rooted to the ground.

_You'll have to beg me to stop._

Tension coursed through every single nerve in Castiel's body, and all he could do was imagine a scenario where he would have to beg Alastair to stop. Either Alastair would beat him to a pulp with the nearest sledgehammer, or he would—

Tears stung Castiel's eyes, and the hair on the back of his neck rose as he thought of the next, plausible situation— a situation he could never fathom going through. A situation he would never even wish upon his staunchest enemies. A situation where Alastair ra—

"Castiel Novak, back to your seat please."

Mr. Frank's voice brought Castiel back to the present, and he blinked a few stray tears away, before glancing at Mr. Frank, and then absently, at Dean. Dean met his eye for a moment, before averting his gaze, and Castiel swore he saw a glimpse of regret in Dean's eyes. As he slipped into his seat, Castiel almost laughed at his own naivety.

He really thought Dean Winchester would stand up for him.

Really.

 _Hah_.

How could he forget Dean Winchester was a bully?

Tears fogged Castiel's vision as he watched Mr. Frank set a paper down on his desk, and move on behind. A finger poked at his back, and yet, he couldn't find it in himself to turn around or even respond to Dean.

"Novak," Dean whispered, "-what's the answer to the first one?"

Too exhausted to put up a fight, Castiel sighed.

"C. The answer is C."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have been reading every single one of your comments, and some of you have commented on my other works as well. I simply wanted to say thank you so much for your never ending support, and although I do not reply to the comments, I see each one and feel extremely grateful to each one of you. So much love to every single one of you, especially to the names I have been seeing for quite long. There aren't many, but the few that are regular make my heart full of love. 🥺💕  
> 


	6. Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early surprise for my lovely followers. 🥰

The past few days, Dean had acted too distant. And stranger was the fact that not once had he threatened, annoyed, irritated, or blackmailed Castiel. Not once. He would sit at the far end of the class, and he would be by himself, writing notes, answering questions, asking doubts— it was as if they never knew each other. But Castiel knew something was wrong, and he could read it in Dean's eyes.

On Tuesday and Wednesday, Dean had kept his conversation with Castiel to a polite, formal extent, simply acknowledging Castiel, before Alastair dragged him away to the bleachers. On Thursday, Dean had not spared Castiel a single glance, and even when their eyes had met by simple happenstance, Dean had averted his gaze, as if they were simply people walking past each other on a crowded street.

Although Castiel didn't know why Dean's silence irked him so much, he wanted to find out if Dean was alright. On Monday, sitting with Dean with a single pair of earphones plugged into their ears, it had shown Castiel a side of Dean he had never seen before. A side of Dean he _knew_ was the real one. Which is why, when school ended on Friday, Castiel watched as Dean grabbed his backpack, and slipped out of the classroom. Castiel followed after him, and noticed how Dean sneaked into the emergency stairwell, instead of the staircase leading down to where their cars or cycles were parked. Usually, Dean would hop into his black, classic car and be on his way home. But that did not seem to be the case today.

Dean's footsteps were heavy and slow as he climbed up the stairs, and snuck into the terrace. He let his bag fall to the side, and walked over to where he had been sitting with Castiel a few days ago. Castiel paused at the corner for a moment, not wanting to surprise Dean, because hey, who knew what Dean would do if he was frightened, punch someone maybe? And Castiel was not in the mood to be _punched_. As he watched Dean, he saw him dig into his pocket, and retrieve something— a packet of cigarettes. Dean pulled one out and brought it to his lips, before digging into his bag for the lighter.

Even as he took a drag of the cigarette, and let the smoke slip past his lips, something lingered in his expression that hurt Castiel to see. Regret. Guilt. Exhaustion. It was the face of a man who had seen too much in life, most of which he never wished to. A person who had been beaten and bruised and yet, wanted to keep living. Dean didn't have the face of a boy, as boyish as it may be. Mannerisms and personality wise, he had grown into a man, and it reflected in his eyes.

"You ain't that good at hiding, fatass," Dean said, and Castiel froze for a second, before allowing a smile to creep on his face as he stepped out from the corner and walked over to Dean.

"How'd you know?"

"I felt you follow me."

Their eyes met, and Castiel quirked the side of his lip in a vague smile, watching as Dean studied him for a few seconds. Castiel slipped down next to Dean, and their thighs brushed. Once again, Castiel had been sandwiched between the wall and Dean, and yet, he found it more comforting that anything. Dean let out a loud breath, and with the cigarette pinched between his fingers, carefully loosened his tie, and unbuttoned the top of his uniform.

"You've been strange these past few days."

"Oh?" Dean asked, "-but I haven't played with you at all?"

"That is exactly why I'm saying you've been strange," Castiel snorted, and felt Dean narrow his eyes at him, "-okay, I'm sorry, I meant to say, you've been a bit, well, how do I put it, _lost_ these last few days."

"You have a problem if I fuck with you, you have a problem if I don't."

Castiel fished his phone out of his pocket, and plugged his earphones into the jack. He handed one to Dean, who plugged it into his ear, while Castiel plugged the other into his own. He pressed play on one of Physical Grafitti's songs, since Dean had told him it was his favourite album, and let his head fall back against the solid concrete.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"About what?"

"About what's been bothering you?"

Dean was silent for a few minutes, before he clicked his tongue, and mimicked the movement of Castiel's head by letting his own head rest against the concrete. With their eyes shut, the only scent of smoke in the air, and Led Zeppelin blasting through their earphones, both boys sat quietly for a moment, simply drinking in the silence.

The song faded out, and only after it had been a few seconds after did Dean sigh, and open his eyes. He tugged the earphones out of his ear, which unintentionally tugged the earphones out of Castiel's ears, and pushed himself up to his feet. Castiel watched as Dean stood leaning over the concrete railing, eyes glazing across the back of the school, where nobody would be anymore. Castiel pushed himself to his feet, and jumped up onto the railing to seat himself, reaching out absently for Dean's arm to steady him in case he stumbled.

Dean didn't move. He simply let Castiel hold onto him.

It was a small action, but it made Castiel smile.

Silence settled between them for a while, with Castiel simply watching Dean, and Dean continuing to smoke, his eyes trailing across the picturesque scenery behind them. Trees, hill tops, and soft, foggy clouds.

"You know," Dean started, his voice softer than ever, "-I came here on a scholarship. It was a fluke, actually. I never imagined getting into a prestigious, private school. I was doing fine at middle school. And I didn't have a lot of friends back there, but I didn't have anything to be scared of, y'know? So I studied. Kept my head down, got good grades, and my dad, he owns a junkyard, a garage where he fixes cars, that's it, and I didn't want to bother him with the money. But when I got here, when I _finally_ got here. I realised how everything had changed."

Dean went silent once again, and yet, Castiel was focused onto nothing but him, watching and studying him, listening with rapt attention.

"The children here, all rich, spoiled brats, they have nothing to lose. Nothing to be scared of. But I did. I realised, either you merged into the scene, or they tormented you for as long as they could. Alastair, I mean. I noticed how he treated the outcasts. How he treats you. I didn't want to be treated that way, and so I thought— If I don't want to be the one getting tortured, the only option I have is to _join_ the ones doing the torturing. If anything, he never treats me the way he treats everyone else. He calls me one of his boys, and he splurges on me."

His words trembled, and Castiel noted how his eyes had lined with a sheen of tears, and he realised at once, Dean was serious, that he was struggling, that he wasn't the careless, mischievous delinquent Castiel had always thought him to be, and Castiel realised, that stepping into Dean's shoes was something he could never truly understand. Dean and he led two very distinctly different lives, and perhaps, there was a reason, something that had pushed Dean to become into what he was today, and knowing that he was sharing it with Castiel, letting himself be vulnerable, Castiel could do nothing but hold back his awe.

"It's suffocating, y'know? Having to keep up with them? But I don't want to back out. I can't. Because if I did, they'd treat me worse than they treat the outcasts. They'd ostracise me. Ruin my school life. And I'm not brave enough to face that."

Absently, Castiel reached a hand out to squeeze Dean's shoulder, not knowing if it would help or if Dean would brush it off. Surprisingly, Dean leaned into the touch, and his eyes fluttered shut as he breathed in a deep breath.

"Sometimes, I wonder if things would have been—" A tear rolled down his face, and he turned his head away, burying it in his shoulder to sniffle, before turning back to Castiel, and crushing the butt of his cigarette onto the concrete, "-if things would have been different if mom was alive."

"Dean, the bruise on your face the other day. It was your father, wasn't it?"

Dean's eyes snapped over to Castiel, and Castiel held his gaze, never letting their eyes stray as Dean paused for a moment, and nodded. As if on its own accord, Castiel's hand drifted up to Dean's face, and he brushed his finger across the bandaid under Dean's eye. Their eyes met, a strange beat passing between them where neither said a word, and yet, Castiel could feel inside him, everything Dean wanted to say, and Dean, perhaps, felt his burden lighten at the very slightest for having shared it.

"I don't usually open up to people, I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me," Dean sighed, and shook his head, as if trying to reboot his system, and Castiel smiled, letting his hand slide down to Dean's jaw.

"Well, if you think I've changed my perception of you, you'll be happy to know that I haven't, and that I still think you're an asshole."

An unexpected laugh rumbled past Dean's lips, a laugh so free and unrestrained, that it made Castiel realise, that if there was any possibility of him ever _liking_ Dean, it would have to be for this true, lighter side of Dean, not the one he'd showed Castiel before.

"C'mon, it's been a while already, let me drop you home," Dean said, and turned to Castiel, who watched him for a moment, still drinking in the sight of Dean at his truest, but then Dean was grabbing him by the waist, and picking him off the concrete railing. Castiel yelped at the sudden movement, and threw his hands around Dean's neck; eyes squeezed shut because _goddamnit_ , he thought he was going to fall. Dean simply laughed, and set him down on the floor, breath panting from laughter. Castiel peeked an eye open, glad he wasn't dead yet, before punching Dean in the chest.

"I thought you were going to push me over," He cried out, and watched as Dean laughed, bastard that he was, and squeezed his hands around Castiel's waist.

"I'm sorry," Dean muttered against his ear, before pulling away, and Castiel realised his arms still clung to Dean's neck.

Their eyes met for a second.

In an instant, both of them were snapping apart like an elastic band in half.

"Eh—erm, we should uhm—" Castiel stuttered out, face searing with heat, as he hung his head down, trying to hide the pinkness of his cheeks and his ear, hoping Dean wouldn't be able to see him, but Dean seemed just as embarrassed.

"We should, um, we should erm, leave—"

"Right, yeah—"

Silence crept up between them, before Dean turned around, grabbed their bags and walked towards the exit, as Castiel followed after him, still smiling giddily for some strange reason. It wasn't until he crashed into Dean's back all at once, that Castiel realised not only had Dean been carrying his bag around, but also that they were the only ones in the school parking lot, and that at that moment, they were standing right before Dean's big, black car.

"It's erm, it's a bit late, so I'll drop you home. I know where you live, so..."

"R-right," Castiel stuttered, and took his bag from Dean's hands, and slipped into the passenger seat, while Dean slipped into the driver's seat. Sitting in Dean's car, side by side with Dean, it was an experience Castiel had never thought he'd ever feel. The car was everything Dean was. Big, loud, shining— and it smelled like Dean's cologne— something Castiel would never tire of. Dean grabbed onto the back of Castiel's seat as he turned his head back to reverse the car out of the parking lot. Castiel watched him, strangely captivated as he watched Dean drive, focused and natural, as if he'd been doing it for ages. But then again, like Dean said, his father owned a garage, maybe Dean was used to being around and driving cars. His hands were rough too— coarse palms that you'd get if you used work with your hands a lot.

Castiel liked how they felt on his skin.

He didn't mean to, but he couldn't help it.

As they pulled onto the main street, a comfortable silence settled between them, and Castiel let his eyes wander out the window, simply watching people go about their lives. And yet, Dean's words resonated in his mind, stirring around thoughts and questions, and Castiel wanted to ask Dean some more, pry some more, but he had no right to.

Perhaps he knew the answers. Perhaps Dean, like Castiel, had resorted to extreme measures for the same reason Castiel had. To find what he lacked in his life. To Dean, it was normalcy. To Castiel, it was simply attention. Not in a rabid, unhinged way most people do, but a simple, subtle attention, laced with affection and care, the promise that he was important, that he meant something to someone.

For the past seventeen years, not once had Castiel sat in his mother's lap and felt indescribable joy, or played with his father and enjoyed some normalcy. All he had was large, blank white bedrooms, since neither of his parents knew him well enough to get it customised to his tastes, and books. Once he'd found a way to distract himself from books, it was his OnlyPics account.

"My account on OnlyPics," Castiel started, and felt Dean's eyes glance at him from the side, "—I never meant to start an account. I found the app by coincidence, and I got obsessed with it. Maybe it's this, no-strings-attached validation that it gives me, but—" Tears stung Castiel's eyes as he stared out the window, "-but I just wanted to be noticed. To— to be important to someone. My parents they, they try to care, but they don't. I don't have any friends, and at this point, I'm too tired to make any. But sometimes, just sometimes, it feels good, when people— when people _see_ you."

Dean did not say a word. Castiel steadied his breath, and wiped away a few stray tears on the back of his palm. Once he recognised his neighborhood, he turned to Dean, who was driving with his eyes fixed to the road, never deviating. Saying something would have pierced the silence between them, and Castiel didn't find it in himself to risk that, for he knew once he said something, he wouldn't be able to take it back. Dean's eyes flickered from the front to the side, and he pulled the car into the driveway of the Novak residence, before shifting gears and turning to Castiel.

Without another word, Castiel swung the door open, and stepped out of Dean's car with his backpack slung across his shoulder. Dean stepped out, although Castiel realised he had no need to, and met Castiel midway. They paused for a moment, unable to speak, and Dean leaned back against the hood of his car.

"I see you, Cas."

Castiel's eyes snapped over to meet Dean's. It was the first time Dean had called him, anything besides _Novak_.

It was a nickname. _Cas_. Castiel liked it.

"—I see you, and I know that the things you do for fun don't define you, okay? Don't let anybody tell you otherwise. Not even me."

An unexpected smile crept at Castiel's lips, and he nodded. Dean seemed mature then, with an odd, wise maturity Castiel never expected to see from Dean. They stood quiet for a moment, before Castiel turned away.

"Thank you, Dean."

"Thank _you_ , Cas."

Castiel nodded, and turned away towards his house, only for a hand to grip his wrist, and he turned around to meet Dean's cold, inscrutable eyes.

"Don't walk to school. I'll pick you up and drop you home."

"Dean, I—"

"Don't make me threaten you. Be ready at eight, Monday. I'll honk twice." With that, Dean turned away, and slipped into his car. Castiel watched him through the glass, before smiling and turning away, walking up the path to his house. At his porch, he paused and watched behind as Dean's car pulled out of his driveway and drove onto the street.

_I see you, Cas._

Castiel flushed pink at the memory of the words in his mind and with a silly laugh to himself, slipped into his house.


	7. Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Mildly graphic rape threats ahead. Reader's discretion is advised.

Watching Castiel study at the school library was as boring as could be. The boy barely deviated from his work, kept his focus on his books, and ignored Dean's insistent pestering. It had been an hour already, and the only reason Dean had ever agreed to come with Cas to the library was because he'd promised Castiel he would be a better person two days ago, and apparently, being a better person involved studying. Dean sighed, and twirled his pen around in his hand. He glanced into Castiel's notebooks and saw pages filled with neat, round handwriting, pencil underlines, formulas, highlighted key words, post-it notes; in his notebook, a giant dick with three hairs sticking out from the ball sac.

"Cas," He whispered, and dropped his head against Castiel's shoulder. Castiel sighed, but made no effort to move, "-I'm booooreddd—"

"You promised me—" Castiel started, and Dean groaned quietly, before dropping his head on the table and pushing the meat of his palms into his eyes.

"I know— I know I promised, but I can't focus— and you, well, you have been more productive in this past hour than I have been in this past _week_."

Castiel set his pen down, and stared down at Dean, rolling his tongue around in his cheek in thought. Dean gazed up at him, hoping Castiel would give into his puppy-eyes, and at last, he was successful, because Castiel groaned and slid his chair back from the table.

"Smoke break, but only five minutes. Deal?"

"Deal."

Dean's face was _glowing_ as he jumped out his seat and trailed after Castiel. If he had a tail, it would be wagging side to side in high spirits, and Castiel seemed to chuckle at his excitement. They let their belongings remain where they were (who would steal a Chemistry textbook? Castiel wouldn't be surprised if someone left their own for lease), and sneaked out of the library, into the emergency stairwell. Castiel climbed up the stairs, and Dean followed after him, until they were stepping onto the terrace. It seemed to be an unspoken acknowledgement between them to sit on the place they _always_ sat at, with Castiel squeezed between Dean and the wall. And come on, Dean liked squeezing the guy into the wall. It was a bit fun toying with him.

The terrace was much windier that morning, and the air felt moist and humid. Dean loosened his tie, and undid the button at the top of his uniform to allow some ventilation for his body. Castiel handed him an earphone, and Dean plugged it into his ear without a thought. They rested their heads against the concrete wall, and Dean fished out a cigarette and a lighter from his pocket, lit it up, and took a drag of it.

"Do you wanna' grab a bite after school?" Dean asked. Castiel seemed to consider it for a moment, before humming.

"Burgers. I like burgers."

"I know a place. Pretty cheap. Good food," Dean continued, and Castiel hummed along to the song, Simple Man by Lynyrd Skynyrd, and Dean tapped a finger at his thigh, basking in the quiet between them.

The song came to an end, and Castiel scrolled through his playlist. Dean in the meanwhile, crushed the butt of his cigarette against the concrete floor, and turned to Castiel, who glanced up at him once before shaking his head.

"You have to stop that, Dean."

"Stop what?"

"Smoking."

Dean frowned, and sunk back against the wall, "-but it helps me relax."

When Dean met Castiel's eyes again, they were blunt and laced with concern. Dean hung his head down, and heard Castiel click his tongue.

"Find something else to relax you."

"Like what?"

"Like," Castiel thought out loud, and Dean watched him with narrow eyes, "-like meditation, yoga, exercise, jerking off, I guess, who knows."

"Jerking off? At school? Right, you want me to whip my dick out in front of you every time I wanna' take a smoke?"

"Well," Castiel snorted, "-you're the only who'd mind."

Dean didn't even know what to say anymore, so he rolled his eyes, and slumped against Castiel's shoulder, "-why do you even care?"

"Because," Castiel finally put his phone aside and sat up straight, his eyes gazing right into Dean's, "-I just do."

"Lame, give me a valid reason."

Castiel narrowed his eyes at Dean, and Dean laughed. Castiel had this adorable, strange thing he did when he didn't understand something. He tilted his head to the side and squinted his eyes, as if trying to figure it out, and it never failed to make Dean smile, "-is it not a valid enough reason for me to care about you?" He asked, with his signature head tilt, and honestly, how would Dean even argue against him?

"Fine, I'll control myself," Dean sighed, and watched as Castiel's face brightened.

"That's better," He murmured, and pat Dean on the shoulder, almost on the verge of laughter, "—good Dean, good boy."

Dean simply let out a groan, and grabbed Castiel's wrist, pulling it up over his head, listening with a satisfied smirk as Castiel whined, and shoved Dean's shoulder.

"Let me go— _ah_ , Dean— it hurts— _I swear_ , it really does—" Castiel cried out, and Dean lowered his wrist, only to twist it behind Castiel's back and pin him to the wall. Dean laughed, watching as Castiel struggled for a moment, before _thwack_ , Castiel punched him right in the gut, and Dean fell back on the floor, hugging himself in pain as he doubled over.

And he couldn't even be mad. He kinda deserved it.

_Okay, Castiel was much stronger than anticipated._

"Fuck," Dean groaned, and just to annoy Castiel, for the drama of it all, let out a pained cry.

"I— I think I'm going to die— tell— tell Sammy I love him— and my car— tell my Baby— tell her I love—"

Before Dean could ramble on about his _heartbreaking death_ , Castiel was twisting his ear, and Dean yelped (for real, this time), and pushed Castiel away.

"You should be on Broadway, drama queen," Castiel chuckled, and Dean sighed, slouching back against the concrete wall, watching as Castiel laughed at him unabashedly.

And strangely enough, Cas was _glowing_. Really, he was _glowing_. His face was bright, brighter than the sun, and his grin was almost blinding. Dean had never felt as insignificant before as he felt in that one moment, gazing upon what he considered to be one of the most sublime things in existence. Something about Castiel was so utterly _radiant_. His youthful exuberance, his warm, tender touch, and how carefree he was— nothing like the uptight, stuck-up, cold _nerd_ people considered him to be at school. The wind seemed to tangle through his hair and kiss his face, leaving a soft pink blush on his nose and cheeks, and as Dean watched, he noticed it rose up to the tips of Castiel's ears.

Slowly, Dean observed, as Castiel's laughter dissipated, yet the grin on his face never dwindled. He ran a hand through his hair, and gazed down at Dean from between his fluttering lashes, and in his gaze was such admiration, it knocked the wind right out of Dean's chest.

_Thump._

Dean's heartbeat— It grew louder, faster.

_Thump. Thump. Thump—_

His chest ached, but not in pain, in yearning.

_Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump—_

Goddamnit. Dean was _screwed_.

"Dean," Castiel said, and held his hand out for Dean to hold, "-let's go back."

Dean stared at his hand for a moment. Even if it was just for now, Dean was glad to hold onto Cas.

"Let's go, Cas."

Dean helped himself up to his feet with Castiel by his side, and they walked down to the library to grab their books. Dean couldn't stop staring at Castiel, who blabbered on about his new study schedule, because somehow, even the most trifling thing became significant to Dean when Castiel spoke about it. It was in one of the corridors outside the library that Castiel paused abruptly, and when Dean finally looked away from him—

Alastair. With Nick and Gordon at his side.

"My, look what we found," Alastair laughed, baring his ugly, yellow teeth out, and Dean clenched his fist, already feeling exasperated at the sight of him, "—Winchester and the fag, with their clothes all rumpled. Is the nerd a good fuck, Winchester? Bet he is. Bet he's a screamer too. It's always the quiet ones."

Alastair's lips curled into a wicked smile, and Dean felt Castiel's smaller hands reach out to hold onto his arm, backing away from Alastair. Alastair's eyes roamed across Castiel, in this disgusting, perverted way, as if he wanted to chew Castiel apart, and Dean felt nothing but anger and hatred curdle in his gut.

"It's a pity, though, I'd been saving up the twink for myself. Wanted to fuck the virgin out of him," Alastair's voice dropped, and his eyes flashed red, "—especially if he would've begged me not to."

Silence settled between them— no, in truth, Nick and Gordon were laughing, but the ringing in Dean's ear had drowned it out. Castiel gulped behind him, and Dean felt his fury rise higher every second.

"Leave him alone, Alastair. He isn't an object, and he certainly isn't _yours_."

"Oh?" Alastair cocked a brow, a challenge evident in his eyes, "-is he yours then? Are you a fag too, Winchester? God, have you been one this whole time?"

Behind Alastair, Nick and Gordon burst into incoherent, amused noises, and Dean grit his teeth, "-Cas is my friend. And what's it to you? Why are you so worked up about him? Could it be that maybe you're a fag too?"

Seething, red rage succumbed Alastair, and his sidekicks, the dispensables, they charged towards Dean with heavy steps, a look of sheer wrath in their eyes. Behind him, Dean felt Castiel pulling him back, mumbling over and over again in a feeble voice, "-Dean, let's go, let's just go, Dean, please, Dean—"

Dean stomped forward, only for Castiel to pull him back, and Dean glared back at him, before turning to Nick and Gordon, his fists clenched and ready for blood.

Castiel had needed him last time. And Dean had been too weak to help him.

This time, Dean wouldn't let his fear win over him. This time, he would fight tooth and nail, with blood, sweat and tears, to show Alastair his place. To defend Cas.

"Dean, just leave them alone, please—"

"You know Winchester, I'm gonna' make sure my buddies don't kill you today," Alastair laughed, stalking towards Dean with his hands stuffed in his pocket, eyes dark, darting from Dean to Castiel, "-I'm going to make sure they leave you conscious enough so you can watch me eat your boyfriend apart, piece by piece, and not be able to do anything at all."

"You motherfucke—" Dean growled, eyes wide and arms ready to throw a punch, but Castiel held him back, surprisingly firm, and Dean couldn't push him away.

Nick and Gordon had paused in their tracks the moment Alastair had held a hand up.

"First," Alastair started, and straightened his shoulders to meet Dean's eyes. Had it not been for Castiel holding him back, Dean would have ripped the bastard to shreds, "—I'm going to tear his clothes off. He'll try to hit me, punch me, slap me– anything to resist me, but let's be real, fag can't even punch right. Then," Alastair glanced back at Castiel, and Dean bared his chest, standing up tall to hide Castiel from his perverted, depraved eyes, "—I'll make sure my buddies hold him down, arms and legs. What a sight, huh? Would you like watching that? No?"

Dean's anger teetered on a fine edge.

"And then, once he's all tied down and naked, I'll split him open slowly, making sure he feels every thrust, every inch, every push— I'll make sure he knows I'm fucking him as hard as I can—"

"Dean," Castiel whispered, "-please don't do anything—"

"Let me go, Cas, I'm gonna' teach this son of a bitch a lesson—"

"And then when I'm done, I'll let you have him. Sloppy seconds. Will that make you happy, Winchester? You know I care for you, don't you?" A sick, wicked laugh rumbled past Alistair's lips, and he raised an eyebrow at Dean.

"You fucking bast—"

"Yadda, yadda, yadda. All bark and no bite, aren't you, Dean-o? Can't even fuck someone up without gettin' all touchy feely. Fuckin' fag." Alastair patted Dean's cheek, and Dean shook his hand off with a growl, trying to squirm out of Castiel's tight, iron grip on his shoulder.

"Let him go," Castiel whispered, and Dean felt his blood boil with the need to bury Alastair six feet into the ground, beat him to a pulp, make him cry, make him beg, make him _bleed_ — but Dean held back. For Castiel, he held back.

Alastair walked off with disgusting, deafening laugh, and all Dean could do was hang his head down in shame and regret. _Damn it_ , if only Castiel hadn't held him back, if only he'd let Dean have his way, Alastair would be in the ER with a few broken teeth. But Castiel would only be hurt if Dean went against his wishes, and with everything Castiel had done for Dean, everything Castiel meant to Dean, he would be the worst friend ever if he let those motherfuckers get away with their tormenting.

Even as Dean shut his eyes, all he could picture was the sight of Alastair towering over Cas, with a predatory hunger in his eyes. Dean couldn't let that happen. Dean would never let it happen.

In a fit of rage, Dean punched his fist into the locker beside him, and heard as the metal rattled under his fingers. Behind him, Castiel let go of Dean's shoulders, and watched Dean with a dim, dejected expression in his eyes.

"Fuck," Dean growled, "-why'd you have to hold me back, Cas?" He let his eyes flutter shut as he sunk back against one of the lockers.

Castiel stood silent for a moment. "Because fighting with them would make you one of them. And you're better. I _know_ you're better."

Unable to find his voice, Dean simply watched Castiel, before croaking out hoarsely, "—The things he said about you, I should've emptied a whole fucking pistol into his head then and there—"

"Dean," Castiel admonished, but Dean tuned him out in favour of pressing his hands into his face as he sucked in a deep, laboured breath. Castiel seemed to have noticed his lack of attention, because he went silent, and Dean wondered if he would walk away too. Dean wouldn't be surprised if he did.

Instead, warm, tender hands cupped Dean's jaw, and Dean let his hands fall away from his face to find Castiel staring up at him, a soft, fond expression in his eyes, one Dean probably didn't deserve to be looked at with, and in that moment, Dean realised, having Castiel beside him had never soothed him before as much as it did then.

"I just wanted to help you, Cas," Dean whispered, and let his arms slide around Castiel to pull him into a tight, crushing hug, "—I was too chicken to say anything last time, but I didn't want him to get away with it again."

"I know," Castiel mumbled against Dean's neck, and ran a hand through his hair, "—thank you for standing up for me, Dean. I don't know what I would have done without you—"

"I didn't do shit, Cas, I just—"

"You stood up for me, Dean. I don't think there's anything more you could've done. I'm so proud of you."

Dean swallowed down the complaint on his tongue, and let himself drown in the scent of Cas's cologne and laundry detergent. It _smelt_ warm— as if nothing would ever hurt Dean if he just stayed there.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled both Dean and Cas out of their moment, and they turned to the side to find Mr. Singer watching them from a few feet away. Oh shit, Bobby saw them? Saw them _hugging_? Damn it, he wouldn't tell dad, would he? No, Bobby was—

"Bobby, I—" Dean

"Bobby?" Castiel gasped, eyes flickering from Dean to Bobby, since he probably didn't know Bobby was Dean's surrogate uncle. John and Bobby had been friends ever since they were in college, and it was Bobby who had recommended Dean to join the school he worked at.

"Mr. Novak, Winchester, back to class. Dean, a word, please?"

 _Shit,_ Dean was fucked.

Castiel pulled away from Dean, although reluctantly, and Dean watched as he walked away with his head down. Dean stood silent for a few seconds, both Bobby and he waiting for Castiel to disappear around the corner. After he did, Bobby walked over to Dean, a thick tension in the air between them.

Dean expected harsh words about what was wrong and what was right, about knowing better, about failed expectations, but instead—

A hand clasped his shoulder, and he turned up to face Bobby.

"I'm proud of you, y'know."

_Oh._

"Wha—?"

"I heard it. Well, parts of it. You were speaking too softly, but I could hear your voice. You stood up for him, I'm proud of you, son." Bobby sighed, and his eyes, wise and deep, peered into Dean's.

_I'm proud of you._

Cas. Then Bobby.

"Thanks Bobby, but—" Dean mumbled, and let his eyes wander across Bobby's face. He hoped to hear those words from his father someday. But he realised, making the people you actually, truly care about _proud_ surpassed any feeling Dean had ever felt before.

"But they got away? Is that what's bothering you?" Bobby asked, "-in the real world, that's just how it is. But the important thing is that you risked yourself for your friend. Or erm, boy... friend—"

"He's just my friend—"

"— _someone_."

Dean felt a smile curl at his lips, and he nodded.

"Look at the bright side, 'kay? And just so you know, I'll be reporting this to the authorities. Don't worry, I'll make sure the spotlight's on Alastair."

Bobby clapped him on the shoulder, before turning away, and Dean watched as he walked away, but paused for a moment, "—oh and kid? Keep the PDA down at school."

Utterly flustered, Dean widened his eyes, screaming out, "—Cas and I aren't—" But Bobby had walked away with a loud chuckle.

Dean shook his head with a sigh, and glanced down at his watch. Shit, he should go join Cas. He must be at the library. Dean scampered down the stairs, and dashed into the library, panting for breath when he found Castiel packing both of their notebooks into their bags. At the sound of Dean's heavy breath, Castiel turned around, and his face lit up, before softening again as he rushed over to Dean.

"Did he shout at you? Mr. Singer, I mean, did he—"

"No, no, he didn't shout at me," Dean smiled, and let himself relax under Castiel's gentle gaze, "—he said he'd heard us, and that he'd report Alastair to the authorities."

Castiel broke into a smile, and Dean felt something inside him rejuvenate. As if it had been lost, or perhaps even _dead_ , but it was coming alive again.

He couldn't tell what it was.

"Let's go home, yeah?" Castiel asked, and reached out to run his thumb across Dean's jaw.

Dean couldn't tear his eyes away from Cas.

"Let's go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be lighter and fluffier, I promise. Update date: (Although I tend to go off schedule) 14th February. 
> 
> P.S: Thank you for the lovely comments on the previous chapter! 🥺


	8. Dean.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day! Love you all so much for your unparalleled support! 🥰

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended to make this fic much smuttier, but the boys have a mind of their own. But I promise, the angst and smut tag is up there for a reason, and it will be coming soon. Here is the chapter you must have been waiting for sincerely.

Dean sighed, and leaned back against the base of the tree, uncapping the cap of his water bottle to press it to his lips. Sweat dripped down his brow. His football jersey, a yellow and red jersey with the school logo on it, was soaked with sweat for having played in it for hours. After school football practice had become a routine on Thursdays, and those were the only days Dean and Castiel parted ways when school finished. Water dribbled down Dean's lips, and he ran a hand through his sweaty, damp hair, before reaching for his phone. Practice had just ended, which meant everyone had a while to relax before showering. The sound of grass crunching softly under somebody's feet caught Dean's attention, and he glanced up only to find Benny leaning against the tree beside him.

"What's up, man?" Benny chuckled, and clapped Dean's hand in a firm shake.

Benny was one of the guys at school Dean had no problem with. He stayed in his lane, helped Dean out, and threw the best parties at his parent's farmhouse on weekends. Dean had been to a couple, and everytime he'd ended up smash-faced on a couch.

"Jus' scrollin'," Dean shrugged, and they settled into compatible silence. Had it been Castiel in place of Benny, he would have eaten off Dean's right ear and started his way to the left with his stories. And hey, Dean would've let him too. Guy's adorable, no one's immune to him.

"Wanna' grab a smoke? I'm dying to," Benny sighed, and scrolled through his own phone.

"Nah," Dean said, recalling Castiel's words, and the way he'd looked that day— resplendent. It had only been a week, but Dean had controlled his urge to smoke. Every time he wanted to, he thought of Castiel, and the fact that Castiel hated the smoke of a cigarette, and how Dean had to do this for him.

"Cold turkey?"

"Somewhat."

"Christ," Benny barked out a laugh, "—you gotta' be head over heels for someone to do that."

"Huh?"

"In love, I mean. Could it be that Winchester here went ahead and found himself a girlfriend?"

Dean sucked in a shallow breath, feeling himself fluster under Benny's eyes as he hung his head down and shrugged. "Nah, uhm, it's for a friend."

"Must be one helluva' friend. Do I know him? Or her?"

"It's uhm, it's Castiel," Dean whispered, and watched as Benny's eyebrows shot up.

"For real? Novak? Stuck-up, up-tight nerd Novak?"

"Hey, come on, he's not that bad, 'kay? He's adorable."

Benny stared at Dean for a moment, before Dean realised what he'd said, "-I, I, I mean, not, erh— n—not adorable, but uhm."

"Cute?"

Dean sighed. "-yeah."

"Won't argue on that. Guy's got these big, round eyes, tiny hands, cute smile."

"Yeah," A smile crept across Dean's face as he let his eyes wander into the distance, "-and this laugh, that's just, so free and bright. And when he smiles, I don't even know what to say, I'm just, so speechless. And every time I do or say something he doesn't like, he gets all pouty and grumpy. It's so fun teasing him. And, and, and he hates that I smoke. He doesn't say it out loud, but he scrunches up his nose every time he smells the smoke. I'm trying to quit for him." Dean turned to the side to meet Benny's face, only to find Benny staring at him, his mouth hung open and eyes wide.

"Are you sure you're not in love with him? I mean, I don't have anything against gay people, just so you know."

"Dude, I'm not gay, I'm just—"

"Obsessed with Castiel?"

Dean flushed with heat, and ducked his head to avert his gaze.

"I'm just observant."

"Right."

Silence infiltrated their conversation, until Dean sighed, and dropped down to the ground, huddling his knees to his chest as he rested his head against the tree. Benny dropped down next to him, and sat with his legs crossed, facing Dean with a fond smile on his face, which for the record, Dean hated seeing.

_He wasn't in love with Castiel._

_Was he?_

But then why was Castiel's face the only thing he could see every time he thought of love? Or the first thing he thought of every morning? Or the last thing he thought of every night?

Maybe he was sick. Maybe he was crazy.

"It's not wrong, y'know. It's very natural to fall in love with people. And I'm sure Novak isn't what he looks like. Like you, who would've thought bad boy Winchester would be blushing over a little gay nerd?"

"I'm not—" Dean, in fact, was blushing. Benny rumbled out a laugh, and turned to face Dean with his thumb swiping through his own phone. Dean's eyes swept across his phone, before he turned back to his own phone.

**cas: When does practice end? I'm bored.**  
_received: 16.23_

Dean stared at Castiel's message for a good, whole second, before tapping on his keyboard. Castiel hadn't come to football practice with Dean, a bit exhausted from the events of the day, since Mr. Singer had to instruct him about some debate championship. Castiel had asked Dean to meet him at the library when he was done, so with a smile, he replied.

**leaving in five, be there in ten.**  
_sent: 16.27_

Dean wondered whether or not Castiel would respond, but it seemed as if he was still online, and the dot next to his name turned green. Dean watched as three tiny ellipses bounced on the screen, before another message came through.

**cas: I'll be waiting for you. (smiley face emoji).**  
_received: 16.28_

"You should tell him already."

Dean snapped his head up at Benny's words, sending him a confused, peering glance as he tried to figure out what Benny meant, when at last, Benny cleared his throat, "-I mean, you should tell Castiel you like him."

"Benny, I—"

"C'mon, dude, are you going to keep denying it just because you don't want to be labelled gay? Or bi? I don't know what you are, but if I was in your place, and I was so in deep for a boy, I wouldn't give two shits what people thought of me if I got to be with him."

Benny had a point. He really did. And now that Dean thought of it, he was right. Why should Dean care what people thought of him? Or of Castiel? If anything, it would be better if people knew Castiel belonged to Dean, they'd trouble him less at school that way. But then there arose the question of _how?_

"How, Ben?" Dean breathed out, voice exasperated, "-How do I even tell him? I don't even know if he likes me back."

"Then," Benny grinned, "-you just gotta' put it out there to see what happens. Don't hold back. Tell him you like him, or _love_ him, even. If I'm right, he won't reject you."

"And if he does?"

"I owe you a burger."

Dean laughed and clapped Benny's shoulder, before pushing himself to his feet.

"Thanks buddy, you're a real one."

Benny held his hands up and grinned, before sending Dean a mock salute.

"Always ready to help my boys."

With a smile spreading across Dean's face, a newfound vigour in his movements and spirit, Dean jogged across the field, heart pounding with excitement and nervous anticipation, stomach and nerves tingling as he pushed the door into the gym open, and ran across the room, never stopping, never looking back, and into the corridor of the school, which was abandoned and empty. Castiel was at the library, all he had to do was go up to him and say it. Just say it.

He paused outside the library to catch his breath, and mumbled to himself, "-I can do this. I can do this. I can do this. I'm gonna' be a fucking man, go in there, and tell Castiel I like him, and that I wanna' be with him. I'm going to tell him I love him, and that I've never loved anyone else so much before," Dean panted, and sucked in a deep, refreshing breath, "-Cas, I love you, please go out with me. No, no, Cas I'm in love with you, I want to be with you. Too proposal-y. Oh, oh, Cas, I think I'm in love with you, please be my boyfriend. My boyfriend. Oh my god—"

A loud cough a few feet away brought Dean staggering back to the present, and he glanced up to find the librarian, Mrs. Mosely, staring down at him with a sassy look in her eyes.

"Yes, Mr. Winchester?"

"Ehr— erm, I'm here to, erm—" Dean gulped, before mumbling a soft _sorry_ , and dashing into the library. Inside, he turned his head from side to side, wondering which aisle Castiel would be in. On a fluke, he walked into the study-help aisle, and paused in his tracks the moment he found _Cas._

Castiel stood on a step-ladder with his back to Dean, immersed in the thought of finding a particular book. His uniform was slightly rumpled, and his hair, a mess as always, and yet, Dean couldn't help but wonder about how absolutely _breathtaking_ he was. Calm, bright, steady— he was everything Dean had ever needed, would ever need. He was everything and so much more. For him, Dean realised, he would change. He would give up anything and everything Castiel hated, and he would try to be the man Castiel deserved.

Castiel was different; nothing like Dean. And perhaps that's why Dean had fallen in love with him in the first place.

They would never agree upon certain things. Perhaps, Castiel would always love Led Zeppelin II and Dean would always love Physical Graffiti. Perhaps, Castiel would always love reading, and Dean would always love to tease him for that. Perhaps, Castiel would always scold him for not caring about his own self, and Dean would always look out for Castiel before himself. Perhaps, Castiel would always be a bit of a brat, and Dean would always try to tame him. Perhaps these things might never change, and yet, Dean was ready; had never been as ready before as he was then.

Slowly, Dean's feet carried him closer and closer to Castiel, who was humming a Zeppelin song under his breath as he browsed through the books, and it seemed as if one of the books was too high. Castiel stood up on the tip of his toes, stretching his arm up to reach for one of the books at the very top, when at once, Dean noticed the step-ladder creak and tremble, and in an instant, before Castiel could even blink, he was dashing forward to hold Castiel up by the hips. Castiel's eyes met Dean's. He let out an incredulous gasp, before chuckling, and pressing their foreheads together.

"Dean," Castiel breathed out, and Dean could almost _hear_ the panicked pounding of Castiel's heart, as he plucked him off the step-ladder, and set him down on the floor. Castiel's arms remained hooked around Dean's neck, and Dean couldn't find it in himself to pull his arms away from Castiel's waist as they stood there, simply drinking in the moment.

"Cas," Dean mumbled, and watched as Castiel looked up at him. Their faces were a mere inch away, and even closer, were Castiel's lips. Plump, soft, inviting.

"Not the first time you've caught me when I was falling," Castiel grinned, and Dean trailed his eyes up to Castiel's big, round ones, somehow filled with adoration.

"Not the last either," Dean muttered, and in his heart, realised, _this is it, the moment you've been waiting for, go for it_ , and yet.

Castiel laughed nervously, before rubbing a hand at his neck, and snapping away from Dean. A bright, red blush spread from the tip of his nose to the tip of his ears, and it made Dean smile wider, knowing he wasn't the only one flustered by their sudden intimacy.

"Cas, I wanted to tell you something," Dean said, sucking in a deep breath and preparing himself. _It's alright,_ he thought to himself, _Castiel won't reject him._

_But what if?_

"Hmm?" Cas hummed, and went about the aisle, browsing through the various books packed into the shelves. Dean stood rooted to the ground, simply watching as Castiel moved effortlessly, and an air of ease and nonchalance surrounded him.

"I—I—"

_Oh god, no._

"Have you ever considered—" _dating me?_ Dean wanted to say, but instead, "—dating anyone?"

Castiel paused in his tracks, and turned around to face Dean, a strange, deer-caught-in-the-headlights expression on his face as he tilted his head to the side and sent Dean his signature squint, "-what do you mean?"

"I mean, there ain't a lotta' openly gay dudes in our school... So, have you ever considered it?"

A wistful smile spread across Castiel's face before he turned back to browse through the books, "-so, what if I have?"

Dean sucked in a breath. His chest was beating; pounding, and his movements stern yet trembling as he grabbed a random book from the shelf, for the sake of being casual, and tossed it on the table a few feet away, "-wh-what kind of man w-would you want t-to date?"

Castiel hummed again. His eyes wandered across the shelf, as he seemed to ponder upon Dean's question, before grabbing a book and seating himself at the table. He didn't respond, but Dean was curious, so he sat himself down next to Castiel, and turned to him expectantly.

"You want to know what I look for in a man?"

"Y-yes."

"Hmm," Castiel chuckled, before sighing, and letting his eyes wander away into the distance, "—well, I don't really care how handsome he may or may not be, it's the personality that I look out for, you know."

_Winchester 0._

"—he should be kind, selfless. Gentle. Funny. Smart—"

Was Dean kind? To Castiel? Well, that was for Cas to decide. Gentle? Up for Cas to decide. Smart? Eh. Funny? Somewhat.

_Winchester 0.5._

"—He should be brave, righteous. Someone who understands people, makes them feel loved. I want him to lean on me sometimes, when things are too hard for him. I like honest people. And I like men who aren't afraid to be vulnerable."

_Winchester back to a 0. Because excuse you, this is Dean Winchester, king of repressing his emotions._

"—he should be my rock, my support. You know those kind of people, where no matter what you do, they're always going to have your back?" Castiel sighed, and a smile spread across his face as played with a pencil sitting on the table. Dean watched him, simply listening; observing.

"What else, Cas?"

"I don't know," Cas laughed, in that shy, pure way he did sometimes when he was flustered, "—I just want him to be someone I can be proud of."

_Someone Castiel could be proud of._

_Was Dean someone Castiel could be proud of?_

Given their history.

_Maybe not._

It was this realisation that gave Dean a much-needed reality check.

Castiel didn't deserve Dean. Castiel deserved better. Someone who stood up for him, someone who never chickened out from a fight. Someone who understood him, asked him how he was, someone who could open up to him, be gentle to him. And Dean? Dean was nowhere near the bar Castiel had set. Maybe, he never would be.

"Was that all you wanted to ask?"

Dean snapped out of his thoughts, and sent Castiel a vague, half-hearted smile.

"Yeah, s'all."

"Why? Why did you want to know?" Castiel asked, and reached a hand out to Dean's face, to brush some of his sweaty hair aside. The action so casual and domestic, it had Dean's heart skipping a beat.

_Thump. Thump. Thump—_

Dean could almost hear the pounding of his heart within his head.

And then it dwindled.

"I thought, I could, erm, set you up with someone I might know, based on your taste."

Castiel's smile vanished. His hand fell away from Dean's face, and he turned back to his book. The air between them changed, more distant now, and Dean found it difficult to pierce the thick silence between them. It was as if he was with Castiel, but wasn't at the same time. As if he knew what Castiel wanted to say, and yet, he could never figure out what Castiel was. They were sitting right next to each other, and yet, Castiel felt miles and miles away from Dean. 

"Alright then," Castiel mumbled, "-let me know if you find someone."

"S-sure."

Between them settled a silence, a distance— a solid, but invisible wall separating them, keeping them apart, and Dean wanted to bulldoze through the wall, pull Castiel close and claim him as his _own_ , but all he could do was sit and stare at his own pathetic reflection on the polished wooden table. It must have been a few seconds after, when Castiel sighed and without turning to Dean, addressed him.

"I think you should leave." It wasn't hostile or harsh, and yet, Dean was jumping back in his seat.

"W-what?"

"I mean, I'm going to be at the library for a little while more," Castiel murmured, and slid his chair back, pushing himself to his feet as if to get away from Dean, "-You should go on home, I don't want to keep you waiting."

Before Dean knew what to say, Castiel turned to walk away, but it seemed as if Dean's body reacted before him, and he held a hand out to grab Castiel's wrist, pulling Castiel closer to him.

"I'll wait, Cas. I'll wait for as long as you want."

Something seemed to deepen in Castiel's eyes, and his lip twitched, as if he wanted to say something. His eyebrows furrowed, and he rolled his tongue against his cheek, trying so desperately to hold himself back from saying something, doing something, and Dean wanted to know what Castiel had to say, but there was nothing he could do.

"You'll be too late."

Dean knew, at this point neither of them were talking about the library or about going home.

But Dean also knew what Castiel was talking about. He just did.

"I won't. For you, I never will."

Castiel paused for a moment, before pulling his hand out of Dean's grip, and faltering back a few steps.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Dean," Was all he said, before scampering out the library, leaving Dean alone and dejected, wallowing in his own insecurities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in the middle of a lot school stress, so I must also focus on that. Thank you for your lovely comments and support! 😄🥰


	9. Castiel.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All aboard the angst train! Choo-choo!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Very minor violence. Just a punch.

Castiel had found the perfect book in the library for Dean. He had told Castiel once, that he was a fan of Vonnegut, and that he had been wanting to re-read Slaughterhouse Five, but back then, the book had been issued to someone else. It was a Friday, anyway, which meant Dean could finish the book over the weekend. The moment Castiel had found it sitting vacant at the issue counter, he'd used up his coupon to issue it for Dean. Dean would be so happy, Castiel thought, and made his way back to the classroom, where they had a recreational lecture to relax and let loose.

These days, Dean had changed somehow. He was relaxed, not as tense or defensive as he used to be around Castiel, and he had a knack for pulling Castiel's leg in class, which seemed to have considerably decreased in the past few days. Dean was studying diligently, and he was making notes, answering questions, raising doubts. Watching Dean change was as beautiful as watching a butterfly break through its cocoon. What's more was that Dean had given up on smoking. Although Castiel had advised him on several occasions to go slowly, Dean had insisted on going cold turkey, and be what it may, Castiel was proud of him.

Both of them had gotten quite close the past few days. To the point where touching became almost casual, and the teasing was a regular part of their conversation. Castiel wouldn't admit it out loud, but Dean's cockiness was somehow attractive, and he'd some times find himself flustered at the things Dean would say.

Everything was as perfect as could be.

As Castiel walked into the classroom, however, his eyes darted over to where Dean was seated behind him, and on his lap, Lisa Braeden, playing with his short, spiky hair— hair that Castiel loved running his hand through. She pressed her tits against Dean's chest, and Castiel watched, as she rolled her hips on his thighs, a coy attempt at showing Dean how voluptuous she was. Castiel stood rooted to the ground, crumpling the book in his hand, as she whispered something against Dean's ear, and giggled. Dean smirked, a boyish, charming grin, and Castiel felt bile rise up in his throat.

 _Why?_ he wondered, _why am I so restless? Dean and I are simply friends, and of course, I may be slightly attracted to him, but—_

Dean laughed, and Castiel's throat dried up at the sight of him enjoying Lisa's attention.

Castiel wanted to shout at him. To grab a book, and smack it across his handsome, chiseled face. To claw Lisa out of his lap and push her away. To tell Dean that he—

And maybe, that's exactly why it hurt. Knowing Castiel couldn't say it out.

Dean was straight, he always had been. Girls, smoking, booze, cars, rock music, sexual humour, charming grins— the perfect, (unfortunately heterosexual) bad boy of Lawrence High. But he was so much more than what he showed others. If they were to study Dean, they'd find a boy, scared, hopeful, kind, gentle— trying to hold onto people, trying to make them feel the love he never got to feel. A strong, supportive big brother, a patient, selfless son. And most of all, a friend. Cocky, arrogant, smug— of course, Dean would never be able to change that, and Castiel never wanted him to, it was an attractive arrogance of knowing what he was worth, and yet, under that facade, was just a boy trying to find someone to understand him.

The moments they'd shared, where the tension between them had almost become palpable, and their faces; lips had been mere inches away— they were simply accidents. They meant nothing to Dean, and yet, everything to Castiel, because they were a few, fleeting moments where Castiel could claim Dean as his own. A few moments where their skin would touch, and Castiel would feel a spark igniting under his flesh. But Dean would never feel those. He would never understand Castiel. He would never understand how _suffocating_ it was.

Lisa rubbed a thumb across Dean's jaw. Castiel remembered how it had felt under his own skin. Soft, but dotted with the slightest of stubble.

It shouldn't have hurt Castiel as much as it did, and yet, it felt as if an anchor had been tied to his heart to pull him down deeper into the pits of an ocean of despair.

White heat coiled within Castiel's gut, and he stumbled backward. His shoulder nudged into something behind him, and he glanced back at it to check what it was, before turning back to Dean, who was then staring right at Castiel. Castiel's breath hitched, and he glanced between Lisa and Dean, before turning on his heel, and striding out into the corridor, surprised at how his body reacted before his mind.

His heart pounded in his chest, the rhythm of it amplified in tune with Castiel's quick, shallow breaths. His gut ached, a lingering unease rising at the back of his stomach. Absently, he reached out to press his hand into the wall to steady himself, letting his eyes flutter shut as he focused on breathing in deep, measured breaths.

And yet, all he could see was the sight of Lisa and Dean laughing.

_It shouldn't hurt, it shouldn't hurt, it shouldn't hurt, it shouldn't hurt—_

_Please,_ Castiel begged himself, _don't make it hurt—_

The sound of frantic footsteps running toward him did nothing to faze him, for he realised even before he could listen to them, that Dean would follow him. _Goddammit_ , he would always follow Cas. _Why did he have to be so gentle to Castiel?_

_Oh right, because he was a cruel, capricious person who enjoyed watching others fall apart._

"Cas—" Came the expected, breathless call for Castiel's name, and Castiel watched as Dean doubled over and clutched his knees, panting for breath a few feet away from where Castiel leaned against the wall, "-hold, hold on."

Unable to help himself, Castiel crossed the distance between them, and rubbed a hand over Dean's back to help him steady himself. But instead, Dean grabbed Castiel's arm, and stood back up, towering over Castiel with a strange, guilty gleam in his eyes. Castiel's skin crackled with a spark where Dean had touched him, and he staggered back a few steps until his back crashed against the wall.

"Dean, I—"

"I'm sorry, I didn't see you come in," Dean whispered, and tightened his hand around Castiel's wrist.

Castiel frowned.

"What would you have done if you did?"

Dean's face faltered, and his mouth dropped open as if to defend himself, but the words never came.

"I—I'm sorry."

"For what?" Castiel let out a frigid chuckle, watching as Dean's eyes met his at last, "-you haven't done anything wrong."

"I, I don't know—"

Silence settled between them, and Castiel let himself drink in the sight of Dean, beautiful as always, glowing in the dregs of sunlight pouring in through the narrow window at the top of the empty corridor. His eyes were deep, not the usual apple-green, but a new, bittersweet ivy-green, as he stared down at Castiel. Behind his eyes, Castiel could see hesitation. Perhaps, he wanted to say something, do something, and Castiel wondered if it was the same thing Castiel wanted to do.

Their eyes flicked down to each other's lips.

Castiel wanted to lean in, but he didn't.

Dean leaned in for a fraction of a second, before letting go of Castiel and staggering back a few steps.

"Why do you keep doing this?" Dean asked, his voice unexpectedly exasperated as he clutched his head in his hands.

"Doing what?"

"Smile one moment, and then frown the other. I can't— I just can't understand you. Like you're happy with me, but the next second you're not. Goddamnit," Dean growled, and punched a hand into the wall beside Castiel's face. Castiel jerked in his spot, eyes blowing wide as Dean leaned in, crowding him against the wall as his cold, piercing gaze peered into Castiel's.

"I just want to know what you're thinking."

"You won't like the answer." Castiel croaked out, trembling fingers reaching up to clutch onto Dean's shoulder.

"Try me," Dean whispered, and their eyes fluttered shut. For a moment, Castiel could think of nothing, but then he felt Dean's forehead rest against his own, and all at once, Castiel couldn't help himself anymore. Tears pooled at the rim of his eyes.

_I see you, Cas._

_I just wanted to help you, Cas, I was too chicken to say anything last time, but I didn't want him to get away with it again._

_I'll wait, Cas. I'll wait for as long as you want._

"Dean," Castiel gasped, but the words on his tongue vanished as Dean pulled him close, sliding his arms around Castiel's waist in what resembled a tight, crushing hug.

"I just want you to be happy—"

"I- I am."

"No, you're not. And I'm not making you happy," Dean whispered, crumpling Castiel's uniform under his fingers, "—it bothered you, me being with Lisa, didn't it? I never meant to hurt you, I just, I didn't expect her to be so touchy—"

"You were enjoying it—"

"I swear, I swear on you," Dean pressed a hand over Castiel's chest, "—I wasn't, I just wanted her to leave sooner—"

"Why'd you come after me?" Castiel asked, his voice a broken whisper.

"Because I, because I—"

"Because?"

Hope rose at the back of Castiel's chest, and he stared up at Dean with teary eyes, hoping, _praying_ Dean would finally say the things Castiel hadn't been able to, but instead, Dean's hands on his body fell away, and he sighed, "—because I saw the book you brought for me, I didn't want to wait for it any longer."

Castiel froze.

A beat passed between them, before Castiel was fuming, and he smacked the book right across Dean's face with a hopeless groan.

"I hate you," He grumbled, and turned away from Dean, letting the tears at his eyes stream down his face unabashedly as he squirmed his hand out of Dean's grip, but Dean wouldn't let him go.

"Cas, I—" Dean started, squeezing Castiel's hand, as he pulled Castiel closer to him. Castiel seethed with anger, eyes wide and glowering as he stared at Dean, and demanded.

"Let go of me, right now—"

"Cas, buddy, listen to me, I can expl—"

"Dean, you're hurting me, let go—"

_Thwock._

Castiel's fist stung. Dean had gone silent, and was clutching at his nose, tears rimming his eyes.

The realisation of _just_ what Castiel had done had him shuddering, and he let out an incredulous gasp as he watched Dean hang his head down.

Castiel had punched Dean.

"Oh, o-oh god—" He breathed out, faltering back a few steps, "-Dean, I'm so— Dean, I'm so sorry—"

Dean didn't look up at him.

Shame and hurt, and indescribable pain caused a strange nausea to bubble in the pits of Castiel's gut, and he stumbled backward, letting his feet carry him away as his vision blurred. The moment Castiel turned around the corner, he let out a broken sob into his palm, and let a fresh round of tears pour down his face.

_No. No, no, no, no, no— Dean would hate him now. Dean would hate him. Dean hated him. Did Dean hate him?_

_Castiel had punched him in the nose, and all Dean had done was tried to speak to him. Dean would hate Castiel._

Crying, Castiel stumbled into the classroom, and tried to school his appearance in front of the others, when at once, a hand clutched at his shoulder. It was Benny, Castiel's classmate, and Castiel sent him a vague smile.

"Hello Benny."

"Hey man," Benny grinned, "-I'm having a party tonight at my farmhouse, you have to come, dude."

"I'm sorry," Castiel mumbled, "-are we friends?"

It was a genuine question, and Castiel was glad it pulled a laugh out of Benny.

"Man, Dean told me you were cute, never told me you were kinda funny too." Benny chuckled, and slung an arm around Castiel, much to Castiel's dismay. Benny and he were friends, sure, but only fast-friends. Acquaintances, if he was being precise. But Castiel knew Dean and Benny were good friends, he'd asked Dean once, and Dean had said they were _tight_ , whatever that meant.

"Dean talks to you about me?"

"Talk might be an understatement. But yeah, and he's told me what a cool guy you were, and I was like, y'know what, he should come over too, so, Novak, wanna' come?"

Castiel knew a lost battle when he saw it. There would be no arguing against Benny.

"Will there be booze?" Castiel sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Plenty of it."

"Then count me in."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am ashamed of how obsessed I am with this fic ahahaha. I was supposed to update this chapter on 20th, but I couldn't resist doing it earlier. Next update however, will be on 21st of February. Big things coming up for our boys. Stay tuned.


	10. Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This chapter heavily implies rape, although it will not be graphic in anyway. Please, please read the warnings of the fic. The rape is not between Dean/Castiel, but Castiel/other character.

Music boomed through the three-storey farmhouse, and dim neon lights flickered from red, to green, to blue inside the windows. All three storeys were bustling, the energy in the house above par. Castiel was unfazed, however. He'd been to a few parties before, hosted by his parents' friends. They'd all been lavish and elaborate, but it was the kids, the teenagers that had all the fun. Smoking weed, drinking beer, truth or dare, girls stripping, people grinding and humping each other— it was nothing short of chaotic. It was what Castiel had expected it to be. And yet, the crowd, although smaller than expected, quite buzzed, was new to Castiel, and he decided to simply grab a few drinks, then call his parents' driver to drop him home. Of course, he hadn't come with Dean that night. For reasons.

Castiel passed himself a once-over in the window of his car, a sleek, black BMW M4, and sighed. He was dressed in a black turtle-neck, a grey trouser and a golden belt (his mother had good fashion taste. It was one of her recommendations). He ran a hand through his hair to muss it, and sent his driver one final glance before stepping out of the car. A few eyes raked over him, and moreso over his car, as he sauntered his way up to Benny's farmhouse, and walked in through the open front door.

People were speaking, laughing, having the time of their lives, but Castiel could only catch traces of their conversation since the music drowned out most of the other noise. It was dim, and technicolour lights drenched the farmhouse in a modern, pop ambience. Castiel trailed his eyes over the entirety of the foyer, which seemed to surpass almost an acre, Castiel thought, although it wasn't actually as long as an acre. Bodies dotted each inch of the foyer, like a club, if Castiel was being honest, with people grinding against each other, drunk, high of their asses. He was sure he caught a glimpse of someone giving head to a man in the corner, but he wasn't going to question it. The air smelled vaguely of weed and heavily of alcohol.

_Of course Dean loved this place._

How wouldn't he?

It was everything Castiel had associated with Dean.

Before the thought of Dean could sour Castiel's mood, there was an arm sliding around his shoulder and pulling him close, and Castiel jerked around to find Benny, obviously wasted, smiling at him. "Novak, you came."

"I had nothing better to do," Castiel admitted with a chuckle, and watched as Benny led him through the crowd with a hand on his shoulder.

"Good, good. I'm surprised you showed up alone, though, I thought youd'a come with Dean."

"Dean is here?"

"Yeah, and sulking. Said something about you slapping him or sumthin'."

Castiel swallowed, and felt his shoulders tense up. Dean was here. Which meant there was a high chance of Castiel bumping into Dean. But on the bright side, the farmhouse was dim, only lit by coloured lights, which meant maybe Dean wouldn't recognise Castiel. And why did Dean tell Benny about the slap? Was Dean always this open with Benny? Or was he this open with all of his friends? Had Dean told Benny more about what happened between Castiel and Dean? Castiel hoped not. It would draw unnecessary attention towards them, and it was no secret that rumours flew faster than lightning at Lawrence High.

"Erm, I don't want to talk about it."

"Yeah, I figured. Anyway, we've got beer, vodka, diluted beer which is basically beer with water, it tastes like crap but y'know. We also have fruit punch, in case you don't want to get smashed," Benny rattled off, and led Castiel towards what seemed to be a counter, more like an indoor-bar. On the counter were large bottles and jugs, and Castiel reached out to grab a plastic cup for himself.

"Which one is the beer?"

Benny scanned his eyes over the counter for a few seconds, before grabbing a bottle and holding it up to Castiel, "-this one."

"Good. I'll have the bottle." Castiel plucked the bottle ( Hennesy? Corona? He couldn't tell in the dark, not that he could tell the difference between either under normal circumstances), and grabbed an opener. He flicked the cap of the bottle, and flung his plastic cup away, pressing the bottle straight to his lips and guzzling down a mouthful of bitter, shitty beer.

"Woah, you're a pistol, huh? I did not see that coming," Benny gave a low, incredulous chuckle, and Castiel simply shrugged. He knew the beer would hardly have him drunk, but it would get him buzzed, and that was more than enough. He was ready to make mistakes. He was ready to risk his sanity, his dignity, and perhaps, even his virginity if he found someone hot enough.

Benny had ended up talking to a girl, someone named Andrea, and Castiel told him he could leave, he didn't want to keep Benny waiting. Benny patted him on the back once, told him to " _take it easy_ ", and vanished into the crowd, leaving Castiel to himself.

Castiel sighed, and turned to watch the crowd behind him. The walls seemed to shake with every beat of the bass, and the people on the floor, dancing, grinding, laughing— enjoying themselves, didn't seem to care for the rest of the world as they lost themselves in the high of alcohol, and perhaps even drugs. It wasn't as if Castiel was against drugs or alcohol, he simply didn't care for it much. But he did have his other addictions though, like OnlyPics and Dean. He was sure they were just as worse as weed and alcohol.

Right as he was sifting through the crowd to reach to a tiny, red _empty_ loveseat at the corner of the room, his shoulder crashed against something firm, and he clicked his tongue at the person in front of him, looking up to reprimand them, only to find—

"Cas?"

"Dean."

_Right. Because Castiel's life was anything but kind to him._

It wasn't as if Castiel had taken an oath against ever seeing Dean, but he hadn't expected stumbling into him as quick as he did either. And there Dean stood, a plastic cup in his hand held above his shoulder to save it from being spilt, dressed in a flannel, a leather jacket, ripped black jeans and black leather boots. He was handsome, moreso than ever, and the width of his shoulders seemed to be somehow accentuated by the leather jacket. Castiel had never felt as small as he did in the one moment where Dean seemed to tower over him, his eyes wide and gaping at Castiel.

Not that Castiel blamed him. He was still surprised at his own actions.

Castiel's throat went dry as he gazed up at Dean, who appeared to still be in a minute shock over Castiel's existence at Benny's party.

"Wh—what are you doing here?"

_Trying to forget you._

"Benny invited me."

"O-oh."

The crowd seemed to have moulded itself around the two of them, and Dean brought his hand down to his face to take a sip of whatever was in his cup. Judging by how he barely winced, it must have been the diluted beer.

"I— I didn't expect to see you here."

Castiel darted his eyes around the crowd, and shifted from one leg to the other, squeezing his bottle tightly in his hand before turning to glance at Dean, "-erm, Benny told me you were here already, I didn't—"

"You look gorgeous, Cas." Dean breathed out, Castiel fluttered his eyes up to stare at Dean, his breath held in his chest as he met Dean's eyes.

"You, uhm, you look goo—"

"Are you drinking a whole bottle of beer?"

"Uhm," Castiel stuttered, "-no?"

Dean's eyes widened, and he plucked the bottle out of Castiel's hand, despite Castiel's protest, and narrowed his eyes to read the label, before turning back to Castiel with a cold, frigid look in his eyes.

"Why are you drinking a whole bottle of beer? It's not good for you, Cas, and hey, have you had a whole bottle before? It won't be too much, but it's your fir—"

"Can you just shut up?" Castiel snapped, and watched Dean's demeanor change. He snatched his bottle out of Dean's hand, and turned away, trying to hide the tears welling at the rim of his eyes as he filtered through the crowd, lips quivering and fingers trembling. He felt Dean follow after him, and shout out calls of, " _Cas, Cas wait_ —" But Castiel never looked back as he reached the door of the farmhouse, and considered leaving, but instead, walked around the back of the wrap-around porch.

Smoke fumed out Castiel's nose as he paced the wooden flooring of the porch, before he heard Dean's frantic, loud footsteps patter against the floor. Lo and behold, there he was, in all his leather glory, trying to be Castiel's knight in shining armour (or flannel, whatever), by policing how much he drank, pretending to care for him, yadda yadda yadda.

"Cas," Dean breathed out, and walked over to Castiel, who leaned against the railing of the porch, "-please, I'm sorry, I just—"

And then it snapped in half. Castiel's will to control himself.

"What are you trying to do? You're making fun of me, aren't you? It's all just for show," Castiel sobbed, unable to hold back as a river of tears streamed down his face, and he brought his hands up to bury his face in them, shoulders jerking as he cried, "-you know what you're doing, aren't you? You know that I love you, and you're trying to make fun of me for it, aren't you?"

Dean stood frozen, rooted to the ground, simply watching, listening— as Castiel sniffled and hiccuped, and cried into his hands.

"Cas, I'm not— I swear—"

"Cut the crap, Dean, you're tired of me. I get it."

"Why would you think that?"

"Oh?" Castiel turned around, facing Dean. Castiel's face had gone pale and wet, and his eyes had swollen up all red and pink, "—is that not why you've been trying to set me up with someone? It's just an excuse, isn't it? So you can get me off your back? Well, you could just say it to my face, I won't mind—"

"Dude, what are you talking about?" Dean snapped, and grabbed Castiel by the shoulder as he bridged the gap between them, eyes gazing at Castiel, their chests pressed flush against each other, and lips mere inches away. Castiel let out a soft, broken sob, and in an instant, he felt Dean's arms slide around his stomach, pulling him into a tight, crushing hug.

Castiel let him for a moment.

Before shoving Dean away.

"Stop pretending to be my friend. I know you don't want to, and I don't mind, I really don't mind, go back to the people you used to be with, Lisa, Alastair, I don't care—"

"Cas, will you listen to me, please—"

"It's always been fun for you to humiliate me, hasn't it? Right from the start, with my OnlyPics, and now this? I knew you were cruel, but I never expected you to take it this far—" Castiel cried, chest heaving and jerking with each sob, as he clamped a hand over his mouth to muffle his sobs.

"I'm not joking, please, just Cas, why won't you—"

"And let me have my fucking beer, okay? Who do you think you are? My friend? My boyfriend?"

Dean froze at that, his eyes going wide as he fumbled with his words, before looking his jaw and hanging his head down. Castiel tried to hold back another round of tears, but they fell anyway, pouring down Castiel's round cheeks.

Silence settled between them for a moment, before Dean sighed, "-you don't want me here, do you?"

"Just leave already, I don't care."

"You don't want me to be your friend."

"No," Castiel croaked out, ignoring the pounding of his heart, "-no, I don't."

_I want you to be mine. My boyfriend. My love. Only mine._

"But you like me."

"Maybe. Maybe not."

At last, Dean whispered, his lips quivering, "I'm leaving."

"Leave."

"You're not going to— you're not going to stop me?"

Castiel shook his head, unable to speak as a sob choked him up, and tears blurred his vision.

"But, I'm leaving, for real, Cas— I won't bother you again."

"Good," Castiel mumbled, wiping away his tears on the back of his hand, "—I don't want anything to do with you."

Dean was silent. Not a single word slipped past his lips as he turned on his heel and walked away, just like that. A second later, however, Castiel felt him pause a few feet away. Waiting. _Hoping_. And oh, how Castiel wanted to stop him, wanted to pull him back, slap him perhaps a thousand more times for being an idiot, but hold him close, never letting go of him, never letting him slip through his fingers. He wanted to shout at Dean, he wanted to be furious at him for not being able to take a fucking hint, but Castiel also wanted to say _fuck it_ to the world, and kiss him right then and there, not caring for who watched them, wanting everyone to know Dean was his, only his.

But he couldn't move an inch.

All he could do was weep silently, as Dean vanished behind him, somewhere into the crowd, leaving Castiel alone and boiling with anger and regret.

A beat passed.

Castiel let out a loud, gut-wrenching wail.

He wanted Dean to come back.

He _needed_ Dean to come back.

But they were _done_.

They were done before they even started.

Castiel sighed and fished his phone out of his pocket. He was going to leave, go home, and sleep. He didn't want to spend another minute here, especially since his fit with Dean had ruined his mood, and all he could do was cry, all he _wanted_ to do was cry. He let his contacts scroll down to the _D_ , to call up his driver. His eyes lingered on the name _Dean_ , before traveling down. Right as he went to tap on it, a voice called out from behind him that had his blood turning cold.

"If it isn't the wittle fag."

Castiel froze, before turning his head around ever-so-slightly.

_Alastair._

And behind him, Nick and Gordon, as always.

Castiel fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve, nervous, but annoyed. He wasn't in any mind to deal with Alastair at all. What with Dean, what with their fight, Castiel was _exhausted_.

"I'm not in the mood, Alastair. Please, just leave. I swear, you can bully me all you want on Monday, not today."

Alastair laughed, and Castiel watched as he stalked forward toward Castiel, crowding him up against the railing. Castiel considered jumping off the railing, but it was a good few feet above the ground, and he'd end up with a broken bone. Before he had time to think, though, Alastair was leaning into his space, his breath reeking of alcohol, _so much_ alcohol, it almost made Castiel grimace, and he tried to back away from Alastair.

"You're not in the mood? How about I get you? Will you like that, bitch?" A hand grabbed Castiel by the back of his neck, and he gasped. Behind his back, he tapped on the contact he hoped belonged to his driver— at least a missed call would work in favour of him.

"Alastair, let go of me—"

"Why? You're all alone, and that fag friend of yours, Winchester, he isn't around to save your ass, is he?" A disgusting, wicked smile spread across Alastair's face, and Castiel felt a pang of fear course through his body at the realisation that—

_He was alone. Dean wasn't coming._

"Please, I—"

Hands, too many of them, slid across his body, over his chest and his waist, and Castiel felt strange, felt _violated_ for some reason, and his eyes widened the moment he felt Alastair's body press against his own.

"Please, no, please, please, please, Alastair—" He screamed out, hoping someone, _anyone_ would help— but a hand clamped over his mouth, filthy and large, and Castiel felt tears sting his eyes.

"How about we go somewhere quiet, fag? Somewhere private, just the two of us having the time of our lives, doesn't that sound great?" Alastair growled, and Castiel felt his body tense up under their hands, "-and then, when we're all alone, you can keep screaming, shouting, begging me to stop. But I won't."

Tears streamed down Castiel's face. A disgusting, rough hand slipped under his trousers, and into the back of his pants, and he couldn't even tell who it belonged to at that point, when at once, he watched with absolute horror, as Alastair stepped back.

With a crooked grin, Alastair unbuckled his belt, and pushed his zipper down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update date 24 Feb. Stay tuned! 
> 
> NOTE: The next chapter will be from Dean's POV but it will pick up from the scene where Dean walked away from Castiel. The next two chapters all happen in the same course of time.


	11. Dean.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter picks up from the scene where Dean walks away in the last chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: Sexual assault is implied in this chapter. Descriptions of violence— punching, blood, broken bones. 
> 
> Please heed the tags and do not read this chapter if you are easily triggered by certain words or descriptions. 
> 
> TW: Blood, oral rape, violence.

Walking away from Castiel, each step felt heavy. Dean wondered, prayed, _hoped_ Castiel would stop him. He paused. He turned his head around ever-so-slightly, and caught the silhouette of Castiel's face, wet and glowing in the moonlight, with a thousand unsaid words lingering on his lips, but Castiel never turned around. Not once. He didn't stop Dean, he didn't call out for him, he let Dean go. He just let Dean go. Just like that. After everything they had been, after everything they had shared, Castiel wanted to let it all fade away into some distant part of their memories, as if it had never existed.

And yet, strange as it may have been, the only thing Dean could comprehend as he walked away from Castiel, was the thought of seeing Castiel smile for the last time. Dean couldn't think of a world where he could live without seeing Castiel smile, at least once, with his entire heart— teeth glistening, lips parted, eyes crinkled, cheeks tinted pink— Dean would rather drink a bottle of poison than have Castiel cry _because_ of him. And that's exactly what happened. Castiel was crying. Over him, because of him— Dean couldn't tell.

Castiel was clear.

_I don't want anything to do with you._

And how would Dean argue against that?

Each step forward felt as if he were descending into a bottomless pit, and yet, he compelled himself to move, to walk, to keep himself steady. Every thought, every instinct threatened him to scream, to shout, to tear down the world around him, to light it on fire, just because Castiel had said it—

_You know what you're doing, aren't you? You know that I love you, and you're trying to make fun of me for it, aren't you?_

Castiel loved him. Castiel told Dean he loved him. And the next moment, he told Dean to leave, and never return. Because hey, when did things actually go the way Dean wanted them to? And not to mention, Dean had stood there, as stupidly as possible, and watched Castiel cry, not even made an effort to console him, save for the selfish hug, which Castiel pushed him away for. Dean should have been more caring, more understanding. He should have listened, and maybe he shouldn't have left.

But then again. Staying would only have hurt Castiel. And wasn't he doing enough of that already?

His jaw ached with how tight he had locked it, and he clenched his fists, trying to hold back a scream. He wanted to punch something, _anything_ , he wanted to go home and beat away at the punching bag at the corner of his room, and hope it would help him forget Castiel, but he knew _nothing_ could make him forget Castiel. He shoved through the crowd, not apologizing for who he pushed and bumped into, until a hand dragged him to the side, and Dean gasped, eyes wide and gaping as he stared up at Benny, who looked quite drunk.

"How did things go? With you and Novak, I mean." An expectant gleam shone in Benny's eyes, even under the dim, neon lights, and Dean wondered, almost sardonically, how things would have turned out between Castiel and him if he had even half of the hope in himself that Benny had in him.

"Castiel loves me."

Dean didn't know why he led with that.

Benny beamed at him, clapping him roughly on the shoulder with a whistle, "-I'm so pro—"

"He said he never wants to see me again."

It was comical, if Dean was being honest, how quick Benny's face dropped, how his demeanor changed, and he straightened, staring straight at Dean, a contemplative expression on his face as he registered Dean's words in his mind.

"What?"

"Cas," Dean croaked out, and brought a hand up to wipe over his face, "-Cas doesn't want anything to do with me. He wanted me to leave."

"And you left?" Benny gasped. Dean furrowed his eyebrows, studying Benny's face for any traces of amusement, but in his eyes was sincerity.

"Why would I stay? To hurt him even more?"

Benny groaned, and flicked Dean in the head, to which Dean hissed, but hung his head down, already ashamed of himself, and now Benny was guilt-tripping him too, -"Brother, you ain't supposed to leave," He grumbled, "-you're supposed ta' grab him by the waist, look him in the eye, and tell him you ain't leavin'. You're supposed ta' tell him no matter what you're gonna' be there for him, through thick and thin, you're supposed ta' hold'im, and tell im' you're not letting him go."

Dean stared at Benny, eyes lighting up with enlightenment with each passing second as he let Benny's words soak into the depths of his mind.

Should Dean have stayed? Should he have grabbed Castiel and told him he wasn't leaving? And that he would always be there for Cas, whenever he needed Dean, that he wouldn't let a single thing hurt him? That he would always think Castiel was the most beautiful thing in existence, and that nothing would ever change his mind? Or how every single night, he prayed silently for Castiel to be happy, or how he would love to listen to Castiel sing along to Metallica for the rest of his life, even if Castiel sang it completely off-pitch and toneless, or that he would stand up for Castiel, that he would rip apart every single thing that ever bothered Castiel?

Should Dean have said something? _Anything?_

Just an _I love you_ , maybe?

"Look, Winchester, we're not good people, and you know that. And you're fucked-up, let's face it. You put on this mask where you're a suave, tough, fella' who gets chicks left, right and centre, but that's not what you are, is it? You hate that, I know it. But when you're with Novak, I see you smile. And not the smile you give all of us— the smile that comes from in here." Benny clapped a hand over Dean's chest, and Dean stood, mouth hung open and eyes glistening as he listened to Benny.

"Novak's not the type you can _use and throw_ , he's the type that grows on you, the type that makes you love him, even though you never expected to, so don't you dare let him slip through your fingers, 'kay?"

Speechless, Dean nodded, and snatched the bottle of beer out of Benny's hands to press it to his own lips. He winced, but swallowed a huge gulp, and with a hiss, handed the bottle back to Benny. His head pounded, but it felt rejuvenating, and a newfound vigour seeped into his movements as he clamped a hand over Benny's shoulder. His breath grew heavier, shallower, and he felt a determined smile spread across his face, "-Ben, I'm gonna' find Cas and I'm gonna' tell him I love him. Right now."

"That's my boy," Benny hooted, and punched the bottle of beer up into the air, a victorious grin plastered on his face.

Dean laughed, and crossed his way into the corridors of Benny's farmhouse for some privacy. He had to call Castiel, he had to make amends, he had to apologize and confess— he only hoped Castiel would take him back. Somewhere in the midst of an empty, darkened corridor, where the music was muted and faint, and silence prevailed over the noise, Dean fished his cellphone out of his pocket, and took a deep, composing breath—

A sudden vibration in his hands caught him by surprise, and he glanced down at his phone, only to find his screen lit up with a picture of Castiel, a picture he'd taken one evening in the car with Castiel. Castiel was digging into a hamburger, and his cheeks were rosy, his hair was a mess, and his eyes gleamed in the twilight sun. For some reason, Dean had wanted to capture the moment forever, and he'd pulled out his phone to click a picture. He would never add the fact however, that Castiel had flicked him in the head right after.

Ever since, the picture had become Castiel's personal caller ID on Dean's phone.

With his heart pounding in his head, Dean swiped up, relieved to know and realise that Castiel had called him first, which meant Castiel _wanted_ him back. They could have a chance. Castiel would forgive him. They could be happy.

His eyes wandered around the corridor of the farmhouse as he sighed, and swiped up to answer. Against his will, he breathed out a soft _Cas_ , but the second he caught a trace of the voice on the other end, he felt his gut tighten.

_"Alastair, let go of me—"_

It was Castiel, but his voice was distant and distorted, as if he was away from his cellphone.

_"Why? You're all alone, and that fag friend of yours, Winchester, he isn't around to save your ass, is he?"_

It was unmistakably Alastair, and Dean clenched a fist as he listened.

_"Please, I—Please, no, please, please, please, Alastair—"_

_"How about we go somewhere quiet, fag? Somewhere private, just the two of us, having the time of our lives, doesn't that sound great? And then, when we're all alone, you can keep screaming, shouting, begging me to stop. But I won't."_

_"Please, please don't do this Alastair— I'm not, please—"_

Sob after sob.

And then a scream tore through the receiver that had Dean flinching.

Dean let out a staggered breath. His fists curled, his jaw tightened, and he felt his chest ache with nausea at the thought that—

_Castiel was alone. With Alastair._

An unrestrained pang of sheer, red rage coursed through Dean's body as he grit his teeth, and turned around, eyes wide and glaring as he pushed and shoved people aside in the foyer. Benny was to the side, eating something, but Dean couldn't care less, as he grabbed Benny by the arm, and dragged him outside the house, all-the-while Benny gaped at him and demanded an explanation.

"It's Castiel," Dean panted after a few moments, once they were outside the farmhouse, on the porch where Castiel had turned his back to Dean not more than a few minutes ago, "-Alastair he— Alastair has him, Benny he's going to—"

And the realization dropped in the pit of Dean's gut like an anchor-bound ship.

"Alastair's going to—"

"Dean," Benny was speaking, concern and worry in his voice, and he'd even held him by the shoulder for support, but Dean couldn't hear him. All he could hear was vague, distant mumbling of _Dean, what's wrong? What happened to Novak? Is he alright? Dean, talk to me—_

Bile rose at the back of Dean's throat as he croaked out at last, "-I think Alastair's going to rape—"

Silence came oddly loud after that. Benny had gone quiet, seemingly drinking in Dean's words for a second. On his face, Dean could see doubts and questions, and yet, Benny didn't let a single one slip out as he staggered back a few steps.

"Where's Cas?" He asked, his voice laced with horror, and Dean sighed.

"I don't know."

"Let's go search the house, then—"

Dean had never moved faster. His feet had grown a mind of their own as they scampered through the foyer, once again haphazardly kicking and knocking people aside. It earned him a plethora of glares and scowls, but Dean couldn't be less bothered as he ran from room to room. The kitchen was empty, the guest room beside the kitchen was empty, the bathrooms were vacant, and each corridor, although dark, was completely empty.

Fear seized every single nerve in Dean's body at the mere thought of it—

But then again. It was his fault.

He never should have left Castiel alone. Drunk, slurring, dazed— how could he have been so _stupid?_ How could he just leave? Maybe if he hadn't, Cas wouldn't be screaming, maybe Alastair would have never found him, and maybe they'd be back to the way things were.

 _Damn it_ , Dean wondered as he felt his lips quiver, _how could I be so stupid?_

God knows what they must have done already.

Castiel must be hurting. He must be in pain, he might be _begging_ for Alastair to stop, he might be wishing, praying, hoping someone would come— he was never good at standing up for himself. And the one time Dean had wanted to stand up for him, to teach Alastair a lesson once and for all, to show him not to mess with Castiel _or_ Dean, Cas had held him back. He'd fucking held him back, and Alastair had laughed in Dean's face, and all Dean had done was stand there like a fucking pussy, not able to say anything or do anything to Alastair for the shit he'd put Dean's Cas through. Whether Castiel liked it or not, he was Dean's— had always been Dean's, and would always be Dean's. And Dean would _never_ tolerate others touching what belonged to him.

Right as Dean was darting through the corridor toward the backside of the farmhouse, something firm crashed against his chest, and he glanced up to see Benny, whose eyes were blown wide.

"He isn't at the back."

"He isn't at the front," Dean answered, and at once, both boys turned to the flight of stairs behind them.

Without another coherent thought, only an abstract of Castiel's face in his mind, Dean reached for the stairs, but a tight grip on his wrist stopped him, and he turned back to face Benny. His eyes were wide and glowering, lips frowning and sweat beading down his face as he panted, chest heaving with each breath he sucked in. A growl lingered at the back of his throat as he tried to squirm his hand out of Benny's grip.

"I can't waste a second, Benny, every moment you wait, Alastair's going to be hurting my Cas—"

"What are you going to do to him if you find him?"

Dean considered it. "Kill him."

Benny sighed, and in a split second, let go of Dean's hand. "Please, Dean, I know you're not thinking straight—"

"Would you have?" Dean snarled, "-if someone tried to rape Andr—"

"Dean—" Benny warned, his eyes wide and face pale, "-I'll rip your tongue out if you finish that sentence."

A cold laugh slipped past Dean's lips as he trudged towards Benny. Something had changed in the air between them, Dean could feel it. Dean's legs were heavy, and he picked up feet after feet as he cornered Benny against a wall, watching as the colour seeped out of his eyes, now replaced with a grey overcast of fear.

"Just the _thought_ of it boils your blood, Benjamin?"

Benny gulped. He was scared. As he should have been.

Dean wondered how long until he scared _himself._

"Novak needs you," Benny croaked out, and tried to slip out of Dean's grasp, pushing Dean away. Dean growled, and watched as Benny rushed toward the staircase. With his feet as light as air, Dean trudged up the staircase, and with his eyes scanning the dark, empty corridor for as far as he could see, he noticed the light under one, particular door seep out of the room.

Benny had noticed it too.

Their eyes met, and Benny let out a shaky breath.

Panic grappled every movement, every foot Dean took forward, as he reached out a hand, but paused before he could twist the door knob. He pressed his head against the door, praying he wouldn't hear what he expected to— praying somewhere in the back of his mind, that he wouldn't have to listen to the sound of—

_"Please, just— please, no—"_

A choked cry drifted through the air and Dean squeezed his eyes shut, gritting his teeth together. A shudder wracked his body at the anticipation of what he'd see, what he'd find—

It would crush him.

A brush on his arm drew him out of his paranoia, and he stepped back, watching as Benny reached for the knob, and with a deep, laboured breath, burst the door open. Dean pushed him aside, and barged in, pausing in his tracks with a gasp as his eyes met—

_Cas._

Kneeling against a wall, his black turtleneck torn from the shoulder down, and his grey trousers unbuckled and unzipped, was Castiel, with Alistair pressing his crotch into his face. Even from a distance Dean could see clearly, the exhausted helplessness spread across his pale, glowing face, which was stained with fresh, blue bruises at the cheekbones and at his jaw.

At the commotion, all eyes in the room snapped to Dean, and Alastair pushed Castiel away, his head banging back against the wall as Alastair jumped away from him. Nick and Gordon, his loyal servants, stood at the side, ready to charge at Dean when at once, Alastair zipped himself up, and turned to Dean. Something vile, something disgusting spread across his face, something perverse and twisted in the way he grinned at Dean— crooked and haughty.

"Winchester? Never thought I'd see you here. But I'm glad you came. Party's just getting started. Wanna' join?" He taunted. Dean glared at him for a moment, nostrils flaring and teeth clicking, before his eyes flickered to the side where Castiel was watching him, a strange mixture of shame and guilt in his eyes as a tear streamed down his face.

And then, something snapped.

Something changed.

The tension that once seized Dean's body seeped into the floor as he took step after step towards Alastair, who watched him with uncertainty.

"Are you going to hit me, big boy?" Alastair laughed, and his sidekicks joined in.

Dean paused.

All he could see was Castiel huddled against the wall, crying, panting—

"No," Dean breathed out. He met Alastair's eyes, "-I'm gonna' kill you."

Silence evaded the room, and Castiel snapped his eyes up to meet Dean's. Dean watched him for a moment, how wrecked he looked. He remembered somewhere in the back of his mind, how _divine_ he'd looked that night when Dean had bumped into him on the foyer, and he still did. But more tragic now. More ruined. More broken. More hurt.

"See Winchester, unlike _you_ , I do carry through with my promises. Little Cassie here would know better than anyone else, wouldn't he?" Alastair laughed, "-after all, I did promise to hurt him until he begged me not to. And _God_ , did he look _gorgeous_ begging to me."

Bile rose at the back of Dean's throat, paired with a _thirst_. A _thirst_ he hadn't felt in days.

Alastair watched him, but Dean turned away from him, instead letting his feet carry him towards Castiel. Each step Dean took closer to Castiel only curdled his blood, and he could see, clearer now, how Castiel's lip bled, how his teary eyes were swollen from crying, how his jaw was dotted with blue and purple bruises. Dean reached out, and Castiel flinched.

Dean's hand hovered hesitantly in the air between them. "Cas," He breathed out.

Castiel trembled for a moment, before leaning his face into Dean's hand, rubbing his cheek against Dean's palm. Dean crouched down until his face was an inch away from Castiel's, and curled his hand around Castiel's jaw, eyes tracking every single bruise on his once radiant face.

_One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight._

_Eight bruises, counting the split lip._

Dean's fingers brushed against the bruise, light as a feather as he snapped his eyes up to meet Castiel's. "Benny," He whispered, and fished the keys to the Impala out of his pocket, "-drive Castiel home."

_Castiel. He never liked how alien the word sounded on his tongue._

Dean tossed the keys back to Benny, who caught them in his hand, and walked over to where Dean was crouched before Castiel. Behind them, Alastair and his sidekicks lingered at the corner, speaking to each other, before slipping out of the room. Castiel's eyes followed them, but eventually ended up back on Dean.

Silence settled between them as Dean gazed into Castiel's eyes.

 _God,_ he thought, _I'm in love with Cas._

"Cas."

Castiel raised an eyebrow, hope flourishing through his glacial blue irises, "-hmm."

"Knowing you has changed me. For your sake, and maybe for mine too, I've been kinder these days. I've been trying my best to be someone you can be proud of. I've tried my best to deny my urges to fight, to rip, to tear something, _anything_ apart. But today," Dean gulped, and cradled Castiel's face in his hands, letting his forehead rest against Castiel's, "-today you can't hold me back."

"Dean," Came the softest of sounds, "-thank you for coming back."

Castiel's lips twitched in a vague smile, and Dean let his thumb brush against the corner of Castiel's lips.

"I'm sorry for leaving in the first place."

A wet, gentle laugh bubbled past Castiel's mouth as he hung his head down, "-I'm sorry for pushing you away."

When their eyes met, Castiel was glowing once again.

And it struck Dean _yet_ once again.

_I'm in love with Cas._

But the words never escaped his throat. Castiel wanted him to say it, Dean could see it in his pearly blue eyes. The words never came, and instead, Dean moved away. Benny helped Castiel up, draping a jacket over his shoulder, and they passed each other a distant, expectant look, before Dean turned away to watch Benny help Castiel out the room, an arm on his shoulder and one around his back.

"Drive safe, Ben," Dean croaked out, before watching as both Benny and Castiel disappeared down the stairs. Dean would much rather have driven Castiel home himself, oh, he would have given _anything_ to be by Castiel's side right then, but time was of essence, and he for once, had the opportunity to pay Alastair back for the years he'd spent kissing his foot, for all the times Alastair had threatened Castiel, for the taunts, the teasing, and for— for hurting Castiel. Even then, the sight of Castiel on his knees, clothes torn and disheveled, and his eyes begging for an end to his misery—

It carved itself into the walls of Dean's memories.

With a staggering breath, Dean sighed, and pushed his jacket off his shoulders.

What he was about to do, he only hoped Castiel would forgive him for it.

And even if he didn't, he would sooner or later have to accept it.

Dean rolled up the sleeves of his Henley as he strolled out the room, and down the flight of stairs, one foot after the other, leather soles clacking against the creaking wood. His chest heaved with ragged breaths, and sweat dripped down his forehead. His fists, god, Dean loved using his fist. The feel of skin slapping against his knuckles, the crushing of a bone under his fingers, the sticky warmth of blood splattering against his skin, the lingering spark on his hand from having struck too hard— Dean had held himself back for Castiel. For _weeks_.

He couldn't any longer.

Alastair had run away. Good, good, good for him. But then again, Alastair _loved_ underestimating Dean, so he wouldn't have gone as far as leaving the party, which meant he was somewhere in the farmhouse with his two, loyal knuckleheads. If Dean was lucky, Alastair would be drunk enough to be caught off-guard, just the way Castiel was when Alastair found him. Oh, how Dean wished he was a crueler person so he could put Alastair through the same thing he put Cas through, but some semblance of righteousness still prevailed in Dean's mind, and he hoped a good, long thrashing would show Alastair his place.

Wandering down the corridor, Dean cracked his knuckles, and let his eyes roam across the crowd dancing in the foyer— grinding their bodies, humping, laughing, some even passed out on the floor. But he wasn't interested in them. His eyes scanned for one, only one person who he was sure would stand out in the crowd with his height and build. Sure, Alastair was not quite as tall as Dean, and talking about body? He was average, punier than Dean. Dean was over a hundred and fifty pounds of muscle, thanks to his work as a mechanic.

If there was anyone who should have been quaking in their boots, it was Alastair.

Alastair, who Dean found slouched against a counter feeling up a woman who tried to push him away.

With his eyes locked on Alastair, Dean parted through the crowd, and slowly, with the gait of a panther preparing to pounce on its prey, he glided against the floor, and made his way over to where Alastair had pressed himself up against the girl, whose eyes darted around for someone to notice her discomfort. Dean wondered vaguely if the expression in her eyes had been in Cas's too when Alastair found him.

It only fuelled his rage.

And made him calmer.

"Hey," Dean whispered against the girl's ear, watching as Alastair's eyes narrowed with confusion, "-this guy bothering you?"

"I— yes," She breathed out, and Dean stepped before her, letting her cower behind him as he stared down at Alastair.

"Alastair," He growled.

"Winchester? Thought you left with your faggot boyfriend. He's a great cocksucker by the way. Let me use him like a good little whore. Pretty lips, pretty hole. It's a shame I couldn't go past sticking a finge—"

A loud _thwack_ echoed through the room, rising above the music, the feeling of Alastair's skin rippling under Dean's knuckles and at once, Dean let out a strange, thrilled laugh.

 _God_ , how he'd craved this.

The collision of skin with skin. The colour red. The scent of blood.

"What was that?" Dean asked, crowding Alastair against the wall as the music dimmed down around them, and a crowd moulded itself around Dean. Somewhere from the midst of the crowd Dean watched as Nick charged at him. If it weren't for the flash of Castiel's miserable, broken eyes in Dean's mind, he wouldn't even be able to land a punch right, but oddly enough, it kept him going, and he grabbed Nick by the arm, twisting it and throwing his fist straight at his nose, watching as Nick coughed out, and a drizzle of blood dripped down his nose.

" _All bark and no bite_ , ain't that what you said about me, Alastair? What happened now? Aren't you going to fight back? I mean," Dean chuckled, "-I _Can't even fuck someone up without gettin' all touchy feely_ , ain't that what you said?"

A fresh, hot pump of adrenaline coursed through Dean's body as he grabbed Alastair by the collar, and thrashed him into the wall behind. Dean curled his hand into a fist, and unleashed it on Alastair's face.

 _Squelch, squelch, squelch—_ The sticky, warm feeling of Alastair's nose breaking under Dean's fist filled Dean with an odd, sadistic sort of a pleasure, and he laughed, going at it over and over again.

"I told you not to touch _my_ Cas, I told you to stay away. Every time you threatened Cas, I couldn't do a single thing. Once, because he never meant anything to me, and once, when he meant something to me. I would have ripped you to shreds," Dean snarled, watching as Alastair tried to push him away, but failed, and tried to shove Dean's iron-tight grip off his neck, "-if Cas hadn't been there. But you know what? Cas ain't here today. And after what you did to him, I'm gonna' take your broken, beaten ass to him like a motherfuckin' trophy."

A few choked groans slipped past Alastair's mouth as Dean let him go, and he dropped to the floor— like a bird with its wings clipped. Someone grabbed Dean from the back, it was Gordon, and his fingers dug into Dean's shoulders before moving up to his neck, and Dean grit his teeth together as he gripped the fingers on his neck, and snapped them to the side.

Gordon let out a loud, pained wail as he stumbled backwards, his arms trembling as his fingers contorted and bled.

"You're gonna' pay for this, Winchester—" Alastair gasped out, and Dean laughed a proud, hysterical laugh as he stomped a foot onto Alastair's ribcage, and leaned down to meet Alastair's helpless, wide eyes.

"That so, boy? Well, in that case, I should just break every bone in your body, shouldn't I? And this—" Dean laughed, and stepped on Alastair's crotch, watching as the colour bled from Alastair's face, and he gasped and choked on the floor, "-you wanted to fuck Cas till he was _screaming_ , didn't you? Wanted to see him begging to stop you? Yeah? How's it feel? Am I being too soft for you, Al?" Every word had a growl lingering to it, and Dean's lips twitched as he crushed his foot harder, "-hope you're proud of me now, I'm being tougher, yeah?"

With a loud, haughty laugh, Dean stepped back to admire his work.

Blood trickled down Alastair's face, from his nose and lips, and with the way his nose had been crushed, Dean knew he'd had to get a whole _new_ nose for himself. The way Alastair hugged his chest, Dean preened at the fact that he'd managed to break at least a few ribs. Slouching at the side of the wall, was Gordon, holding his bleeding, contorted fingers to his chest. On the ground a few feet away from Alastair, lay Nick, with his nose broken as well, bleeding down his lip and chin.

Perfect.

Dean rubbed a hand across his forehead, and a smear of blood, most likely Alastair's, clung to his skin as he flicked some sweat away. He waited for a moment, turning around to walk away, watching as the crowd separated on its own. He reached down into his pocket, and dug out a cigarette, but decided against it, and tossed it away somewhere in the crowd, as he rolled his sleeves down, and ran a hand through his hair.

As he walked out Benny's farmhouse, he caught a reflection of himself in a window, and he paused to study himself. His skin seemed to glow with a strange rejuvenation, and his eyes were blazing with adrenaline as he smirked. When he turned his eyes back to the driveway, he watched as Benny stepped out the Impala, car keys swirling around in his finger.

"How's Cas?" Dean asked, as he stalked over to his car, snatching the keys out of Benny's hands.

"Novak's fine. Says he wants you to meet him as soon as you can."

"Well, I'm going to be on my way then."

"You better," Benny smiled vaguely, and Dean felt himself being pulled back down to the ground, now nearing the downfall of the high of his adrenaline.

"Oh, uh, by the way, Benny," Dean called out, "-the house's a mess. Don't call the cops on me."

Benny stared at him for a moment, before sighing, and eventually, a laugh rumbled past his lips.

"The way you're both obsessed with each other, god, it's scary, honestly."

Dean hummed to himself, "—that's the fun part."

With one, final smile, he slipped into the driver's seat, and started the ignition, letting his Baby roar under him and fall into a steady purr as he pulled out of Benny's driveway.

Knowing Castiel needed him just as much as he needed Cas— it was strangely satisfying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Possessive Dean Winchester" tag has been on the fic from day 1 for a _reason_. Now you know why.


	12. Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am extremely sorry for the delay. I've been going through a major writer's block, and have been struggling with some school work as well.

Driving back to Castiel's house had been one of the most harrowing, nerve-wracking, and impatient drives Dean had ever experienced. The desperation to see Castiel, paired with his penchant for being tetchy when things went against the way he wanted them to, caused Dean to become a tangled bundle of nerves by the time he arrived at the house. Dean pulled into the pristine, wide driveway, and cut the engine. He felt the Impala's steady purring falter, and fade into silence, before he stepped out of the car, and let his eyes wander over the large, elegant house before him.

_Castiel needs me_ , Dean sighed, and rubbed a hand over his face, _I have to be strong for him._

Seated on the front seat of the Impala, with only the sound of his ragged breaths to keep his company, Dean sighed into his hands, and glanced up to look at the Novak residence outside his window. A few feet away, with only one window illuminated, the rest of the house faded away into the gloom of a calm, dark, cold winter night. Dean stared at it for a moment, before glancing at himself in the rear-view mirror to study himself. A smear of blood stained his chin, and he rubbed it at his sleeve. He ran a hand through his hair, and with conviction in his movements, stepped out of the car, letting the keys jangle in his palm as he strutted up the short flight of stairs in front of the rosewood door. Once he was at the threshold, he rung the buzzer.

The few seconds it had taken for Castiel to open the door seemed to be the _longest_ few seconds of his life.

At last, the door creaked open a smidge, and from within, Dean caught a trace of Castiel's bruised face. Castiel gasped, and let the door swing open at once. Dean stared at him. Castiel stared at Dean. He watched as Castiel's weary blue eyes roamed across his face, studying the few scratches Alastair must have left on his skin, and for a second that their eyes met, Dean let out a shaky breath.

Standing at Castiel's door, Dean was hit with a strange sense of deja vu, as he recalled the first time he'd felt something other than hostility towards the boy. Perhaps it had been in the way Castiel had nursed his bruise, despite it being barely visible in the light, how their faces had been close, too close, and Dean wondered distantly, how freaking clueless he'd been. If only someone had told him back then, that someday, he would need Castiel as desperately as he needed the air to breathe, he would have laughed in their face, and called them an idiot for even thinking Castiel would ever be a _friend_ to Dean.

"What happened to your face?" Castiel asked, popping the bubble of silence between them, as he reached out to graze a thumb against one of Alastair's scratches on Dean's cheek. It must have reddened, and raised above his skin, because it stung when Castiel hurt, and Dean winced. Castiel snatched his hand away at once, but Dean simply sent him a vague smile.

"Only you would worry about a scratch on my face when your own is covered in bruises, Cas," Dean whispered, and watched as Castiel's eyes softened. A pink blush spread across his face, up to the tips of his ears, and he looked away from Dean, fidgeting with the hem of his black, threadbare t-shirt.

Silence lingered between them, before Castiel sucked in a deep breath, and fluttered his eyes up to meet Dean's.

"It's cold outside, you should come in." Castiel moved aside, and allowed Dean to step in. The door shut behind them with a soft _click_ , and Dean followed Castiel inside, up the flight of stairs and into his dry, blank, lifeless white room. The room was drenched in a soft, warm yellow glow, not too bright, not too dark, and Dean toed his boots off as he followed Castiel to the bed. Castiel fell back on the bed, hands stretched above his body, an action that reminded Dean of a cat, and it made him smile, but also wonder if Castiel was really alright. If anything, the past few hours had been the hardest for Castiel, moreso than anyone.

"Hey Cas?"

"Mhm?"

"Are you okay?"

At that, Castiel opened his eyes, and Dean watched him as he stared up at the ceiling.

"I suppose, yes. Of course, I'm exhausted, but I'm fine."

"But Alastair—" Dean started, but paused when Castiel turned to look at him. Something within his eyes changed— from calm to morose, to something tragic, and Dean realised, it looked _hauntingly_ similar to the look in Castiel's eyes when Dean had found them up in the room at Benny's house.

"I don't, I don't want to talk about that," Castiel stuttered, his voice wet and low, and Dean noticed how he turned away, not meeting Dean's eye. Dean wanted to know more, though, even if it was selfish of him to. He wanted to know if Castiel was fine. He had the goddamn right to, because he loved Castiel, would always love him, he would do or give anything just to see Castiel smile the way he always did— light, carefree, toothy; something so unrestrained about his happiness, something so contagious it helped brighten Dean's mood as well, Dean wished it would return. He wished Castiel felt happier. And he deserved to. Castiel deserved every, single joy in the world, and Dean would die trying to find it for him.

When Dean let his thoughts return to the present, he watched as Castiel turned away from him, lying with his back to Dean and face to the wall beside his bed. Dean couldn't see his face.

It ate away at Dean, not knowing what Castiel was feeling; thinking.

No words were exchanged.

Somehow, deep, deep, _way too deep_ inside, Dean realised— Castiel needed him. Castiel needed him to be his rock, his pillar— someone he could lean on, someone who would be there no matter what. And Dean would be right there for him, every step of the way.

A soft sigh slipped past Dean's lips. He pushed his jacket down and let it fall to the ground. With soft, focused steps, he walked over to where Castiel lay, and carefully slipped onto the bed next to him. "Cas," He whispered, and brushed his finger over Castiel's jaw to turn his chin to the side.

Teary eyes met Dean's, and he hitched a breath. Castiel turned around to stare at him for a moment, silent, before his lips trembled, and Dean could tell he was trying _so_ damn hard to keep it in.

"You don't have to keep it in, Cas."

Broad, callous hands slipped into Castiel's slender, soft ones, and his round, blue eyes dropped down to stare at their twined hands for a moment, before he was letting out the softest of breaths.

"I," Castiel choked out, his voice naive, with such innocence to it, Dean felt tears sting his own eyes, "-I don't know what to say."

Something about just how _broken_ Castiel's voice was cracked every semblance of sanity in Dean's mind, and all he could think of was how Castiel didn't deserve it. Not a single thing, not a single bruise, not a single scratch— no, he didn't deserve what happened to him. He was just a child, for God's sake, so naive, so pure, with such radiance in his soul. Even the brightest ray of sunshine wouldn't live up to the way Castiel illuminated Dean's life, how he made every day bearable; livable. How he made Dean felt safe, loved, cared for.

And Dean couldn't protect the only thing he'd sworn to protect.

If only he hadn't left. If only he would have stayed, if only he would have been with Cas, maybe none of this would have ever happened. How could he have been so fucking _stupid_ , so fucking _selfish_ , that he left the moment Castiel asked him to? How would he ever get over the fact that had he stayed for five more minutes, he would have been able to see Castiel smile, that he wouldn't have to be sitting in Castiel's room, watching him cry and shiver.

 _It's all my fault,_ Dean realised, _how could I have left him?_

"You don't have to say anything, Cas," Dean whispered, hoping to keep his voice steady, hoping to keep his tears at bay, but the next moment, his vision was blurring, his jaw was aching, his lips quivered, and before he knew it, a sob rolled past his chapped lips, accompanied by a tear, "-I'm so sorry—" He croaked.

 _Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it—_ he was supposed to be strong for Castiel, he was supposed to protect him, keep him safe, keep him happy, and here he was, crying into Castiel's lap.

"I shouldn't have left," Dean whispered, squeezing Castiel's hands within his own, holding on as if Castiel would disappear the next moment if he wasn't too careful, "-I should have stayed, I'm so sorry," Dean stuttered out, and wiped his face on the back of his palm, before clenching Castiel's hand again.

Something about how quiet Castiel was only irked Dean, and he felt another tear roll down his face. But then, Castiel's hand reached up to touch his face, and nudged his head up. Staring up at Castiel, his face marked with bruises, Dean only felt the regret in his gut tighten as he rubbed a hand across his face before gazing back up at Cas.

"It's not your fault. I asked you to leave, even when you didn't want to. It's not your fault," Castiel smiled, and though vaguely, it was reassuring. Dean swallowed nervously, and let his forehead rest against the top of Castiel's head.

"I should have waited. If I just waited for a few more minutes, Alastair would have never—"

"Dean," Dean paused, and stared up at Cas, whose teary eyes roamed across his face with such admiration, it almost made Dean sick that Castiel could _still_ like him, especially after he'd failed to keep Castiel safe, "-you came before it was too late. Thank you," Castiel muttered, lips still trembling, "-thank you for coming back."

"Cas, I—"

A sharp squeeze of his hands had him faltering, and he watched as Castiel firmly shook his head, "-please, please don't keep saying it's your fault. It's not. It's not you, Dean, you saved me, you saved me again, after everything I did to hurt you. I punched you, I shouted at you, and I told you to leave— and you still came back."

"Why did you think I wouldn't?" Dean asked, eyes narrowing in confusion and concern, and Castiel faltered, mouth dropping open to reply only to shut it again. Maybe he wanted to say something. Dean wished he knew what Castiel was thinking. "Cas, I," An exasperated sigh slipped past Dean's lips as he swallowed tightly, "-I'm sorry I couldn't be there for you when you needed it. But I promise, from now on, you'll never have to be alone ever again. Ever. I'm going to make sure nothing bothers you, I'm gonna' make sure to rip apart anyone who tries to hurt you, I'm gonna'— I'm gonna' be good to you, I swear—"

"Why did you wait so long?" Castiel asked, cutting Dean off, and Dean stared at him, mouth hung open— utterly speechless.

But the answer came to him sooner than he expected.

"I wanted to be worthy of you; of your love. I wanted to be someone you could be proud of."

A beat passed between them. Across Castiel's face, Dean watched as his skin grew a deep crimson tint, and his bright, cerulean eyes were wide— gaping at Dean.

He was blushing. _Oh god_ , Dean realised, _Cas was blushing._

"Erm—" Cas swallowed, eyes fluttering across the room to tear away from Dean's, as he rolled onto his side, and turned away from Dean. Dean watched, dumbstruck for a moment, as Castiel's shoulders heaved with deep breaths, and he shut his eyes tightly.

"Cas?"

"Shut up," Castiel snapped, "-you're— you're not— you're straight."

Dean would have laughed. If he wasn't so stunned. 

"That's your issue with this?"

"I mean— I—"

"Cas, I, I'm in love with you, s'what I'm tryna' say."

A beat passed between them— quiet, expectant. Until Castiel let out a sigh, and slowly, turned around to meet Dean's eyes. Cas yelped, and pressed his hands into Dean's face, much to Dean's, erm, amusement? Surprise? He wasn't sure what Castiel was doing.

"No, you— you're not— in _love_?"

"Unfortunately for you, I am," Dean sighed, and pressed a kiss to Castiel's hands on his face. Castiel snapped his hands away, and Dean tried to hold in a laugh.

"I thought you just, just liked me—" Castiel mused, eyes floating across the room, before settling on Dean again. _Goddamnit,_ how could Dean hold back when Castiel was being _adorable_?

As if on instinct, Dean's hand slid down Castiel's body, down to wrap around his waist, and Castiel let out a soft gasp at the touch, before burying his face in the crook of Dean's neck to hide it from Dean. Cautiously, Dean grazed his fingers lower, under the hem of Castiel's t-shirt, and over his warm, smooth skin. Castiel whimpered, hands crumpling the front of Dean's shirt as a palpable shiver coursed down Castiel's body.

"I'm in love with you, Cas, and you better fuckin' accept that. I'm not playing, and I sure as hell don't have time to dance around the bush anymore. I just beat up three guys with my bare fists, got punched and scratched, had the shittiest night, and I'm not in the mood to keep counting rose petals about whether you love me or not. So please, I need an answer. Just a word, a sound, anything."

Wide, awestruck blue eyes stared up at Dean, and he watched as the black of Castiel's pupils seeped into the blue, and _shit_ , the way Castiel licked his lips, he _shouldn't have done that_ , he really shouldn't have, because Dean was two seconds away from losing his conscience, and Castiel absently biting down into his plump, wet bottom lip was _not_ helping.

"I—" Castiel flushed red, and Dean felt his skin raise with goosebumps, "-uhm."

Dean let his hands glide around Castiel's back, feeling shameless as ever, as he grazed his nails down his warm, firm back, and watched as Castiel struggled to keep his eyes open. "D-Dean—" Castiel gasped, and Dean watched as he moved away, much to Dean's surprise, and rolled over to face the wall on the other side.

"Cas?"

"I erm, I like you too, a lot, a very big lot, and erm, I think we should, erm, sleep, because erh— uhm, because I'm tired and you're tired, and sleep is good, and it's—"

 _Yeah,_ Dean smirked, _Castiel loved him too._

"Okay," Dean sighed, "-do you want to switch the lights off?"

"N-no, I mean, no, let's keep them on." Castiel buried his face against a pillow, and Dean held back a chuckle at how he could _still_ see how red Castiel's face was. It was unlike Castiel, who Dean knew could be a cheeky, arrogant cock-tease, but it was cute— this nervous side of Cas, and Dean wouldn't complain.

As silence spread across them, Dean wondered how they'd ever ended up there, Novak and Winchester, two names you'd never hear in the same sentence, sleeping on the same bed, right next to each other. And to think it started out from Dean having to blackmail Castiel. Of course, Castiel didn't know it yet, but he'd deleted the pictures from his phone ages ago. The day Alastair had bothered Cas at his desk, Dean had felt too cowardly for not saying anything, and he'd deleted the pictures as compensation for being a pussy.

"Dean?"

Dean snapped back to the present at the sound of Castiel's voice.

"Hmm?"

"Close your eyes."

"I'm not sleepy," Dean countered, and glanced to the side to watch Castiel laying silent.

"Just close them."

With a sigh, Dean sighed, and shut his eyes. The bed shifted next to him, and he wondered what Ca—

Something soft, warm and wet pressed against his lips, and Dean's breath hitched.

_Oh._

He couldn't dare to open his eyes. All he could do was lay completely frozen as Castiel kissed him before pulling away. It was barely a brush of his lips, shorter than a breath, and yet, Dean couldn't help but be greedy as he fluttered his eyes open, and grabbed Castiel by his wrist. Their faces were a mere inch away, and Dean breathed in the air Castiel had let out, before Castiel's eyes blinked open, and widened the moment he found Dean staring at him.

As if caught red-handed, he blushed, and tried to squirm away, only for Dean to tug him closer.

"Stop teasing, Novak," Dean rasped out, and watched as Castiel flushed a bright red, and parted his lips, tongue darting out to wet his plump, pink bottom lip, before Dean pulled him in closer, eyes fluttering shut as their lips pressed together, and it punched the wind right out of Dean's chest as he lost himself in the feeling of Castiel's wet, warm lips sucking at his.

He was kissing Castiel.

 _Oh_.

And Castiel was a surprisingly good kisser.

They pulled away for a breath of air, and Castiel's eyes went wide with arousal, but the moment they met Dean's, he faltered, and turned away, burying his face in the pillow. Dean let himself regain his breath, before glancing down at the first trace of his cock beginning to swell. He cursed himself, before pushing a palm into his crotch and turning onto his side.

"Good night, Dean," Castiel whispered, and it took Dean a solid few seconds to compose himself.

"Night, Cas."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know there's a hundred ways this chapter could have been better, but I did my best to put this out for you guys without delaying too much. The deadline was 5th March, and I'm a day late, sorry about that. The next chapters will be more positive, and pick up on some loose threads in this story. I have a rough idea of what I want in my mind, let's see how it all pans out. On the brighter side, there will be a lot of sexy time coming up between Dean and Cas, so stay tuned for that!  
> 


	13. Castiel.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: Recollections of Rape/Violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I made you guys wait for so long the past week and also suffer, here is some fluff, a smidge of smut, and a lil dash of hurt/comfort.

Waking up was disconcerting. Having been used to sleeping alone and awaking to a cold, empty bed, Castiel faltered at the realisation of having Dean's legs entwined within his thighs, and Dean's chest pressed flush against his back, with the sound of his steady heartbeat thrumming in his chest. Perhaps, somewhere over the course of the night, they'd ended up tangled within each other, but Castiel wasn't complaining. In fact, with the way he'd been resting his head against Dean's arm for God knows how long, he didn't even have the right to complain. It took him a few seconds to compose himself, before the events of the night before came staggering back to him. He paused in his tracks, eyes wide and mouth hung open, as he recalled Dean's words, their confession, and the— the kiss. The kiss Castiel had so unabashedly stolen from Dean's lips.

Castiel blushed at the memory of it, and shoved his face back into the pillow under him. He tried not to shift too much, or else he would end up waking Dean, who slept so calmly, it almost tugged at Castiel's heart. A moment after he'd cooled down from his tiny meltdown, Castiel rolled onto his side, and stared at Dean's face. It was smooth, devoid of any wrinkles or spots, save for his beautiful tan freckles, and a few scratches here and there. There was a bruise on his jaw, which Castiel realised belonged to his own hand when he punched Dean the day before.

Absently, he reached out to graze his knuckles down the bruise on Dean's jaw. Castiel's own face stung with a few bruises.

How he wished he could turn time back.

How he desperately wished he could have changed his past, how he could have asked Dean to stay, and perhaps, Dean would have stayed, and they wouldn't have to go through what they did the night before.

The thought of it had bile rising at the back of Castiel's throat.

Tears welled at the rim of his eyes unbidden, and he tried to blink them away while Dean was asleep. He shoved his palm into his eyes to rub away the tears, only to feel another drop of tears roll down his face.

Castiel couldn't find it in himself to think of it.

The sickening stench of alcohol, the distant laughter, the hands on his body— too many to distinguish them, the nails scratching at his skin, the knuckles bruising his face, the fingers yanking at his clothes, the loud noise of fabric tearing, the blurred vision, tears, shouts, screams— until his throat had gone hoarse.

The ache in his jaw. The burn between his thighs, where each one of them had so ruthlessly defiled him. The stickiness of the blood between his legs.

The shame. The guilt. The disgust. The helplessness. A string of words in his mind, echoing over and over again— _help, please, help, please, stop, stop, please, don't_ —

What Dean witnessed has been the tip of the iceberg. How would Castiel ever tell him, or anyone, for that matter, what Alastair had done— with his fingers, with his friend's fingers, with an empty beer bottle— how they shoved it in and out, how they made _sure_ Castiel bled.

Only one person knew the truth.

Benny.

He wasn't blind. He had noticed the stream of blood pouring down Castiel's thighs when he had helped Castiel into the shower the night before. Of course, he had saved both of them a great deal of discomfort by not bringing it up, but the way his eyes had softened, Castiel just knew he wanted to say something. But he didn't, and part of Castiel was thankful for it.

Castiel wondered if he told Dean.

Maybe he didn't.

It was futile now, living in the past. Castiel would never tell Dean what they'd done to him— especially after last night, after Dean had confessed, no, declared his love to Castiel with such exasperation and intensity, finding out the person he loved had been raped in such a vulgar way, it would shatter Dean. Castiel would never tell him. And eventually, he was sure the horror of it would wear off and they could go back to the way things were. Castiel didn't have to make a big deal of it. If it had been his mother, that's what she would have said.

 _You make too big of a deal of trivial things, Castiel,_ his mother had said to him once, when he'd ended up in a bicycle accident with his foot fractured, _it's bothersome to the people around you._

Right, and Castiel didn't want to be a bother to Dean.

Because be as it may, as flustered and nervous and tongue-tied as he may have been the night before, in truth, he knew he loved Dean. Much more than he could ever imagine loving anyone. He wasn't sure he knew what love meant, but he did know he couldn't imagine a future where Dean wouldn't be by his side, or where he would ever be happy without Dean.

Said Dean sucked in a deep breath beside Castiel, and Castiel was brought back to the present. He watched as Dean groaned under his breath, and furrowed his eyebrows, before blinking his hazy, sleep-soaked green eyes open. Their eyes met, and it must have caught Dean by surprise for a moment, since his eyes widened, before a smile spread across his face.

"God, I wish I'm not dreaming."

Castiel chuckled. Something about how Dean's eyes gleamed in the sunlight had him entranced for a moment, and he couldn't help but stare at Dean. "I don't think you are."

A broad, calloused hand slipped against Castiel's jaw, and Castiel watched as Dean's eyes tracked the movement of his thumb on Castiel's face. Castiel winced when he grazed over a particularly harsh bruise, and at once, Dean's face dropped, eyes going wide as he parted his mouth to apologize, but Castiel simply leaned in to bury his face into the crook of Dean's neck, breathing in the faded scent of his cologne.

"Dean," Castiel whispered, trying to hide the trembling of his lips, "-I love you too. I never said it back last night."

Thick, slender fingers threaded through Castiel's hair, simply brushing his scalp, and he felt his tears dampen the fabric of Dean's shirt.

"You didn't have to, Cas. I knew already. I felt it in your punch yesterday, just how much you loved me."

The words pulled an unbidden laugh past Castiel's lips, and he pulled away to stare up at Dean, "-is that so? Was it that light of a punch?"

"No," Dean smiled, "-in fact, it hurt like a bitch."

Castiel snorted, and let himself be pulled into a hug as Dean wrapped his arms around his waist, and pressed a kiss to his neck. Castiel felt his skin dot with a shiver at the touch of Dean's warm, gentle lips, and it seemed like Dean knew just what he was doing as he pressed another trail of kisses down Castiel's neck and shoulders, down to his collarbone.

"Dean," Castiel's words had turned to gasps then, "-let's get up."

"Can't we stay like this forever?" Dean asked, his voice breathless as he pressed another trail of kisses slowly down Castiel's chest, rucking his t-shirt up, and holding him as delicately as a porcelain doll in his arms. Castiel whimpered, shoving a hand over his mouth to stifle his noises, when at once, Dean reached up to link his fingers through the hand on Castiel's lips and bring it down.

"Don't keep it in, Cas, let me hear em'."

"Dean, ah—" Castiel gasped when he felt Dean's teeth graze his nipple. On instinct, he rolled his hips against Dean's body, and watched as Dean stared down at his sweatpants for a moment, before glancing up at him.

"Can I touch you, Cas? Down here?"

A warm hand drifted up Castiel's thigh and pressed into the small bulge in his sweats. Castiel caught Dean's eyes, and nodded, although hesitant, but in his heart, deep down, he knew Dean would never hurt him. With how cautiously and gently Dean pulled his pants down, Castiel realised he was right. His small, pink cock sprang up, throbbing and leaking, and he watched as Dean eyed it for a moment.

"You're so pretty, Cas," Dean hummed, and Castiel felt his thumbs dig into his flesh before Dean wrapped his lips around the tip.

Castiel's eyes rolled to the back of his head as he dropped his mouth open, and reached down to clasp a hand at Dean's shoulder. "O-oh—"

Dean hummed around his cock, and carefully spread Castiel's legs apart, eyes bright and filled with mirth as he sucked Castiel, laving his tongue around every crevice and curve, licking at his frenulum, soaking the head with spit, sucking and nipping. It was strange how Dean could fit Castiel's whole cock inside his mouth, of course, given it was smaller than average.

"D-Dean— o-oh— ah— _augh_ —" Castiel gasped, feeling his thighs begin to cramp up as Dean sucked him, bobbing his head and slurping him clean, before popping off his cock with an obnoxiously filthy squelch, and staring up at Cas with heated, pink cheeks.

"Cas," Dean rasped, "-can I go lower?"

It didn't take Castiel more than a second to give his consent as he nodded, and shoved Dean's face lower between his thighs. Instead of going to town but, Dean simply stared at his hole for a good, solid few seconds, and it flustered Castiel to know Dean was simply studying him.

"Do s-something," He urged Dean, who glanced up at him for a moment, as if having been pulled out of a trance.

"I, I can't tell you how gorgeous your hole is, Cas, it's, it's beautiful— so much pinker than I remember, so much tighter, _fuck_ , I'm going to make you feel so good, Cas."

Castiel lay stunned for a moment, before going deep red in the face, as he turned his head to the side and reached up to hold onto the hem of the pillow. Dean pushed his legs apart, and at last, Castiel felt his tongue— hot, wet, sticky— lap at his hole, drinking Castiel in as if he were ambrosia.

It was nothing short of needy— the way Dean ate him. Spit dripping down his chin, nose dragging up and down against Castiel's taint as Dean pressed his tongue against the pucker and licked at it, toying and playing with the rim, grazing it with his teeth, and plundering it with the tip of his heavy, heated tongue. Castiel could see nothing but white as he felt his toes curl, and his hand gripped Dean's head, pushing him in deeper, keeping him in place, making sure he goes as deep as he can. On the bed, Castiel squirmed, arching his back and crumpling the bedsheet, before feeling the coil in his gut snap.

Thin, white come splattered against his stomach as he came with a breathless cry of _Dean_ , and squeezed his thighs around Dean's face. Their breaths hung in the air, loud and expectant, until at last, Dean pulled his head out of Castiel's thighs. Castiel fluttered his eyes open, feeling his spent cock twitch at the sight of Dean, his hair a completely crazy mess, his eyes narrow with lust, and his lips slick with spit drooling down his chin. He sat back on his knees for a moment, and rubbed the back of his palm across his lips before sending Castiel a smirk and climbing off the bed.

Castiel rolled his eyes. _Fucker._

"How about I make you some breakfast? Pancakes, waffles, or my special, marshmallow mac'n'cheese?" Dean snorted, as he stretched his arms above his head, and Castiel groaned.

"That's disgusting."

"Sammy would disagree."

Castiel laughed, before throwing his boxers at Dean, (which Dean dodged) muttering a soft _idiot_ , and climbing off the bed to stretch his own arms. He yawned, and rubbed at his eyes before focusing them on Dean again. Dean smiled, and pressed a kiss to his head before turning to the en-suite bathroom.

"Please tell me you have a spare toothbrush and good water pressure."

A chuckle rolled past Castiel's lips, and he nodded, before grabbing Dean by the hand and leading him to the bathroom. Fortunately enough, they did end up finding a spare, packaged toothbrush, and brushing next to each other was slightly awkward if nothing, until Dean, impatient that he was, ended up snorting and laughing, and Castiel couldn't hold back either. Yes, there was toothpaste foam on the mirror from them having laughed, but they wiped it off before stepping into the shower.

Showering together, Castiel wondered, was supposed to be sweet, very intimate, very sexy— Maybe if Dean stopped trying to style his hair up like Jimmy Neutron on the pretence of 'rubbing shampoo into his hair'. Of course, it took them much more time to step out of the shower, what with them making out against the bathroom wall like horny teenagers, which in this case, they actually were, and having to do another round of body wash to clean their sweat. By the end of it though, Castiel didn't want to leave, in fact, he could have easily spent another hour showering with Dean, with his rough, calloused hands roaming across his tiny, lithe body, if only their stomachs hadn't rumbled with hunger.

Finding clothes that would fit Dean proved to be much more taxing than Castiel thought, because the only pants he fit into were Castiel's old sweatpants that had gone too lose from being washed over and over again. Of course, Dean being Dean, and also a bitch, he decided to roam around Castiel's house shirtless. Whatever, Castiel was thankful for the eye candy.

It wasn't until Castiel had slipped into his own sweatshirts that he noticed Dean rummaging through one of his drawers. He was tempted to ask him what he was doing, but at the same time, curious to know why Dean had chosen that one specific drawer to scour through, when at once, he turned to face Castiel. Their eyes met, before Castiel dropped his gaze down to where Dean was holding Castiel's mini first-aid kit in his hands.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't stand seeing those bruises on your face, Cas."

"How did you know that was in there?"

"Remember that time I came over, a couple of weeks ago, when I asked you to tutor me?"

Oh, right, and Dean had the nasty, purple bruise on his face that his father gave him. And Castiel had helped him cover it. Was that when Dean noticed the kit? Hm.

"You're very observant."

Dean shrugged, and nudged Castiel down on the edge of the bed, before dropping down to a crouch before him.

"I guess," He trailed off, and Castiel watched as his thick fingers dealt with the cotton ball delicately, soaking it with disinfectant, and bringing it up to Castiel's face. He slowly dabbed it against a bruise under his eye, and Castiel stared down at Dean, who on the other hand, was fixated on the bruise.

"You know," Dean gulped, "—that time you put a bandaid on my bruise?"

"Mhm?"

"I think that's when I fell in love with you, Cas. I just didn't know what it was for a long time. I wanted to hate you so bad, cause you were perfect. Perfect grades, perfect life, rich parents. But I didn't know you then, and maybe I still don't, but what I do know is that, hating you is hard, impossible even."

"I'm not perfect, Dean," Castiel sighed, and his lips turned down in a frown, "—I'm far from perfect."

"I know. And I love you anyway."

Their eyes met, and Dean's fingers paused on Castiel's face.

"How can you be so sure?" Castiel asked, his voice barely a whisper. Something about the way Dean smiled then, wide and full of conviction, had Castiel's heart skipping a beat.

"Truth is, I'm not. Absolutely not. Heck, I don't even know what love _really_ is but, but all I know, is that every morning when I wake up, I'm really thankful that I get to see you."

Heat crawled under Castiel's skin, and he shoved his tongue into his cheek to hold back a wide smile. He nodded slowly, and let his face hang down, only for Dean to tilt his chin up and press a kiss to his lips.

"So, you're, erm, you're my boyfriend now?" Castiel asked, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. Dean laughed unexpectedly, and sat back on his knees.

"Mhm, hell yeah."

"So, uhm, are people going to know, or do we have to hide it?"

Dean raised his eyebrow at that. "I don't want to hide it. I want everyone to know you're mine. See," He brought his finger down to a round, purple mark on Castiel's neck— a hickey he'd left on Cas when they were making out in the shower, "-that's my brand right there, don't want anyone putting their hands on what's mine."

It was strange to admit, but Castiel couldn't get enough of Dean's possessive side. It was the thrill of knowing Dean was ever-so-slightly obsessed with him, and that Castiel, to his credit, was somewhat obsessed with Dean too, that had Castiel's gut tightening with arousal. Dean didn't show it that often, at least not in front of Castiel himself, but the traces of it that bled into their conversations, they were enough to get Castiel's heart racing.

A few minutes later, when Dean had made sure to tend to every tiny bruise on Castiel's face, and after Castiel had spent ten more minutes kissing Dean senseless, they decided to move to the kitchen for some breakfast.

In the kitchen, Castiel had ended up seated on a barstool before the island counter, and Dean was rummaging through the fridge and shelves to find pans and spatulas. Somewhere along the line, they'd both chosen to have pancakes. Castiel was excited beyond compare, although he wouldn't show it. Having Dean cook for him, rather _anyone_ cook for him, always tugged at his heart. And Dean went about cooking so effortlessly, humming and mumbling Zeppelin as he whisked the pancake batter, even utter silence between them had become comforting.

"These are gonna' be the best pancakes you've ever had, Novak, I'll bet on it."

"Oh?" Castiel hummed, resting his chin on his hand, "—is that so? What did you put in them?"

"Eh, y'know, some eggs, some flour, some milk, the usual, but most importantly, a whole lotta' love." Dean smiled, and Castiel watched, awestruck, as he went about pouring the batter onto the pan.

"How are you the same person that I knew months ago?"

Dean quirked his lip, and with a dismissive shrug, replied, "-I don't know what you mean, I've always been like this."

"No, you haven't. Before we were friends, you were always so rude, and cold, and I know it had to do with erm," Castiel gulped, and felt his face drop, "-with Alastair, but the girls? The whole playboy thing, where you'd sleep with a new girl every week? What was that?"

For a moment, silence lingered between them, and the air between them had changed. Dean sighed, and turned around to meet Castiel's eyes.

"A search for acceptance."

Castiel found himself unable to speak at that, and he wanted to pry further, but he knew that Dean and he came from extremely different walks of life, and what seemed hard to Dean may not be a big deal to Castiel. In due time, when Dean would be more comfortable, Castiel was sure he would tell him. If not now, some other day. Castiel hung his head down, and fidgeted with a tiny scrap of skin beside his nail. But a moment later, a plate full of pancakes, right with a smiley-shaped syrup on the top and some banana slices slid in front of him, and he snapped his head up to meet Dean, only for Dean to press a kiss to his hair and turn away.

"Look Cas," Dean started, as he sat himself down next to Castiel with an equally full plate of pancakes, "—the things I did, I'm not proud of any of it, okay? If I could change my past, I really would, but I can't." A beat passed between them, "-I'm scared of not being able to belong, Cas. I need someone who accepts me. Before you, it was Alastair. At home, it's Sammy. And at school, I had to pretend to be someone I wasn't to be able to belong. I've told you already, I got in on a scholarship, I wasn't born into a rich family, neither are my parents hardcore corporate workers with a shit ton of money to spend on my schooling. But I wanted to do something worthwhile, you know? And I wanted to be relevant to the people around me."

"So at the end of the day, you needed attention too, huh, just like me?" Castiel asked.

Dean paused for a moment, simply chewing on his food, and Castiel shoved a forkful of pancake into his own mouth. It was delicious, honestly, and so much better than the boxed ones he bought.

"We all need attention, Cas. We all wanna' feel important, and that we matter to someone. It's as human as can get, if you ask me."

"You know," Castiel started, and a smile grew at his face at the recollection of the memory, "-remember when I told you that sometimes it feels good when people _see_ you?"

"Yeah?"

Their eyes met, and Castiel watched as Dean waited for Castiel to speak, his face soft and expectant.

"I see you, Dean. And you matter to me. A lot."

Out of all the things Dean could have done, he _blushed_ , and Castiel stared at the way his face pinkened. It was a rare sight, but delightful nonetheless, and Castiel chuckled. He flicked his finger against Dean's cheek, and leaned in to press a kiss to his jaw.

"You're so cute."

"Okay, shut up," Dean sighed, and slipped off the stool, obviously trying to stifle his smile, as he walked to the sink with his empty dish. Castiel followed after him, and they rinsed up the dishes in silence, before making their way into the bedroom again.

"Hey, uh, I need to go call Sammy and tell him I'm spending the day here, I'll be back, 'kay?"

Castiel nodded, and watched as Dean grabbed his cellphone from the pocket of his discarded jeans, and slipped out of the door. For the first time, Castiel felt like a stranger in his own bedroom, and he glazed his eyes across the blank, white room, and somehow, it stared back at him with all its emotionless aura. In the distance, he could catch traces of Dean's conversation.

_'...can't explain... Cas needs me... I'll be home soon... Take care of yourself, kid, ring me... If you need anything...'_

_Cas needs me._

It wasn't a lie. Castiel did need Dean. Now, then, later, forever.

Perhaps he would always need Dean.

Sighing, he sunk back on his bed, and turned over to face the wall. His eyes roamed across the small scratch marks on the wall. He remembered leaving them the night before, when Benny had driven him home. It was one of the few moments Benny had left Castiel to himself, he'd gone down to fetch Castiel a bottle of water. Castiel had wanted to claw at something, to break, smash, rip something apart. He felt anger, more than anything, and he wanted to take it out on something. But then again, his room was nothing but a glorified white prison, with almost nothing that belonged to him. Scratching at the plaster, clawing at it until his fingers went sore— it was all Castiel had done to vent his anger. Observant as he may have been, Dean hadn't noticed the scratch marks, and Castiel was thankful for it.

He was too tired of being questioned. Of questioning.

Perhaps it was muscle memory that led Castiel to it, but before he knew it, tears welled at his eyes as he drifted his finger over the scratches.

When he shut his eyes, he could still feel it on his skin.

The uninvited touch of rough, disgusting hands roaming down his body.

He wanted to forget, he really did. He wished, so desperately, that when he opened his eyes, the pain and the hurt would disappear, but it never did.

And all Castiel was left with was an aching jaw and limbs. Of the stench of alcohol and blood stuck to his nose.

Of the feeling of cold, thick glass thrusting inside him— no matter how hard he tried to resist it.

"Castiel?"

The sound of his name brought him staggering back, and he blinked away a tear as he sat up on the bed. It was Dean, his eyes wide and concerned, much to Castiel's confusion.

"I kept calling out your name, you didn't respond, it— it scared me."

"O-oh," Castiel stuttered, a bit flustered, "-I'm sorry, I, I just sort of, got lost in my thoughts..."

Dean watched him for a moment, before making his way over to the bed. Castiel scooted to the side to make space for him, and watched as Dean dropped down beside him, sinking back into the pillows and pulling Castiel flush against him. Castiel chuckled, before giving into Dean's childishness, and felt Dean bury his face against Castiel's stomach.

"I'm sorry for leaving you alone."

"It's alright, it was just a few seconds."

"Still. I want to be with you always, Cas."

Castiel smiled, and let his fingers play with Dean's hair, curling them and brushing them as Dean rucked his shirt up to his chest, and kissed his navel.

"Is it because something bad always happens to me when you leave me alone?"

"No, sweetheart, of course not, why would you think that?"

Castiel paused. "Because it's true. I always need someone to stand up for me. I'm weak, and I can't face the people who hurt me. Instead, I punch the people who try to protect me, and I hurt them and push them away—"

 _I don't want anything to do with you_ , Castiel had said. And here Dean was, forgiving as always.

"—maybe I deserved it. After I hurt you, maybe I deserved it."

Silence followed Castiel's words, and he felt his vision begin to blur and blink out of focus.

Dean was quiet for a long few minutes, and he'd gone oddly rigid. His hands had frozen, and his shoulders had become tensed as he stared passively at Castiel's stomach. Castiel couldn't find it in himself to speak, however, since he felt he would be breaking the glass-like silence between them. It wasn't until Dean turned his head up, that Castiel noticed the controlled horror glinting in his wide, ivy green eyes.

Castiel gulped. The silence shattered.

"Nobody," Dean's voice was low but firm, "-deserves to be raped."

And the weight of Dean's words dragged Castiel down, as if he were abandoned in the middle of the sea with an anchor tied to his waist.

"But I—"

"Cas, I want you to know that none of what happened yesterday was your fault. It was Alastair, it was that sonovuabitch that deserved to be be hurt. If I wasn't human, I'd do the same thing to him that he did to you—"

A shudder wracked Castiel's body.

"—but I couldn't do it. I couldn't be a monster. But I promise you, Cas, and please take my word for this, Alastair won't ever bother you again. After what I did—"

"What did you do?" Castiel chimed in, and watched as Dean slowly met his eyes.

"I hurt him."

"How?"

"You don't want to know, Cas."

Castiel swallowed thickly. Goosebumps had begun to dot his skin. Dean stared up at the ceiling blankly.

"How bad?" He asked at last, trying to respect Dean's decision to not tell him.

"Bad enough."

A pause ensued between them.

"Should I be scared of you, Dean?"

Surprisingly, Dean laughed, and Castiel felt his calloused hand slide across his jaw.

"Never, sweetheart. I would never hurt you."

Castiel smiled, and pressed his face into Dean's neck to breath in the scent of soap. They met again, languid this time, as their lips found each other, and their hands flew and legs twined, bodies rocking against the bed as they tasted every inch of each other's mouths, pulling away to catch their breaths. Their eyes met, and Dean's were bright as always.

"Everything's going to be okay, Cas, I promise."

And Castiel realised then in that one second, that yes, he truly did love Dean. Because if he didn't, he would have never trusted those words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Update: 13 March, 2021.


	14. Castiel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early surprise!

"Anything else, doctor?" Castiel asked, as he buttoned his shirt up. Dr. Sunders, a sweet, young lady in her early thirties, smiled down at him, and ran a hand through his hair. Castiel hadn't planned on spending his Sunday morning in a hospital, but Dean had insisted on getting a physical check-up after what had happened on Friday.

"Not much, thankfully. I'll get you the list of medications, they'll relieve your muscle pain. As for the pain in your rectum, it will heal soon and on its own, so my only advice would be to avoid any sort of sexual activity for at least two weeks. Besides that, you're good to go. Keep eating healthy, nurse your bruises everyday, and drink a lot of water. That should do you good."

"Thank you, Doctor."

"Castiel, I—" Dr. Sunders sucked in a breath, "-I want you to know that you're very brave, okay? And the fact that you've opened up to me about something so personal and harrowing, it just proves that you're far from weak. Please don't let this hinder you in life. Sexual assault is something no one should have to go through, and yet, the fact that you're moving on, I'm extremely proud of you. Now see, as hospital policy, I'm not allowed to give out my cell phone number, but you're just a teenager, barely finished high school, and I can't leave you like this. This," Dr. Sunders fished out something from her pocket, and handed it to Castiel. It was a thin, white piece of paper, "-is my business card. The second number on it is my personal number. If you ever need a therapist, or maybe just an ear to listen, please feel free to reach out to me."

Castiel sat still for a moment, simply gaping at the business card in his hands. He felt his throat tighten at Dr. Sunders' kindness, and in a soft, low whisper, wished her a _thank you_.

"I'll get the list, and you can rest here for a bit."

"Sure." Castiel smiled, and watched as she walked out the door. It clicked shut, only to click open again, and in came Dean, his eyes expectant and full of worry.

"What'd she say?" Dean asked, as he pressed a kiss to Castiel's head, and ran a hand through his hair.

"I'm fine, just some muscle pain."

Dean was silent for a while as they hugged, and it allowed Castiel to bask in the peace, before Dean pulled away, and sat down on the chair next to the hospital bed.

"Skip school for the week, I'll get you notes for every lesson, every day," He said, and Castiel smiled.

"That's sweet of you, but I'm fine, Dean, I promise you I am."

Dean seemed to settle at last, as he nodded and reached out to pull Castiel's hands into his own. He pressed a kiss to Castiel's knuckles, and Castiel smiled. Their eyes met, and all they did was stare at each other for a moment.

"You know I've been reading up on some things about people who, erm, people who, people who went through the same thing you did—" Dean started, and Castiel noted how his voice dropped, "—and they said, most of them at least, said therapy helps. I mean," Dean looked up at Castiel, and in his eyes, Cas could see resolution, "—you're rich, Cas, you can afford a good shrink. Maybe talking about it will help you. Even if it helps in the slightest, it's better than nothing, don't you think?"

It was endearing, how much Dean was trying his best for Cas, and he felt his throat tighten up at the way Dean was speaking about therapists, about Cas, about getting better.

"Maybe not now, but some day, if I ever struggle too much, I'll start therapy, okay?"

"But Cas—"

"Not now, Dean," Castiel sighed, as he swung his legs over the edge of the single bed, and turned his face down. There were things, several things Castiel hadn't told Dean yet. Truth was, he didn't know how to. He knew it would hurt Dean, but he couldn't predict what Dean would do _after_. For once, he realised, he felt what Dean was used to feeling— having no idea about what the other was thinking. Dean was sitting there, right next to him, so close to him, and but at the same time, Castiel had not a single clue as to what he may have been thinking about.

"Okay," Dean hummed, obviously dejected, and as much as Castiel hated being harsh to him, mentally, he wasn't ready for a therapist. There was a great deal of things he would have to face, starting from telling his parents about the rape, down to finding out a good therapist who was able to guide him in the right way. Perhaps some day, he would choose to go to therapy, but for now, he was content with taking rest. Besides, Dean and he had decided already (more like Dean had endearingly threatened Castiel) that Castiel would take a leave from school for at least three days to rest and get better, and over that course of time, Dean would give Castiel the notes for every lesson, every three days.

"Hey," Castiel called out, and slipped a hand over Dean's jaw, rubbing a thumb over his cheek, "—thank you for looking out for me, Dean."

Dean grabbed Castiel's hand in his own, and leaned into the touch, "-s'my job, Cas."

"No, it's not."

"Then I want it to be."

An unexpected smile pulled at Castiel's lips, and he leaned into press a kiss to Dean's lips, only for the door to swing open. He paused, and both of them pulled away with a sigh before facing Dr. Sunders, who seemed to turn slightly flustered.

"I'm, I'm sorry, I should have knocked," She muttered, and Castiel sent her a polite smile.

"That's alright. Dr. Sunders, this is Dean, my boyfriend."

"Oh, hello Dean. It's a pleasure to meet you," Dr. Sunders smiled, and handed Castiel a folder, which he browsed through as she continued, "—so, like I said, these are mostly muscle pain relievers, and some things you have to keep in mind are eating healthy, keeping yourself hydrated, and taking a lot of rest. Your body has been through a lot already, Castiel, it needs time. Now look, I'm not a psychologist, but what I _can_ tell you is that your mind plays a huge role in how fast you heal. The more positive you are that you're strong, and that you're going to get better, the sooner you'll be fine. That also being said, no sexual activity for a while, got it?"

Dean flushed redder than Castiel expected him to, and Castiel snorted at his reaction, before nodding his head.

"Of course, Dr. Sunders. Thank you so much."

"It's no worries."

Castiel hopped off the bed, and Dean sprang up to help him down. It irked Castiel for a moment, that Dean was being a wee bit _too_ overprotective, but he didn't blame him. Perhaps if he'd been in Dean's place, he'd done the same.

They bid Dr. Sunders goodbye, and walked out of the hospital corridors and into the lobby. Castiel bought the medicines he needed from the in-house pharmacy, and they made their way into the parking lot, where Dean helped Castiel into the passenger seat before slipping into the driver's seat.

"So," Dean started after a while, "—wanna' grab a bite? I'm starving. Oh, oh," His apple-green eyes lit up, and Castiel couldn't hold back a smile as he watched Dean speak, "—we haven't been on a date, so uh, you wanna' get lunch with me?"

Castiel smiled, eyes brightening as he pressed against Dean's side, sliding an arm around his waist to nuzzle into his neck. Perhaps it was the sudden realisation that Dean was here, that he had always been there for Castiel, and how Castiel was lucky enough to have someone who loved him unconditionally.

"I love you," He whispered, and felt Dean falter. He went silent for a few seconds, before hugging Castiel back, pressing his lips to Castiel's forehead.

"I love you too, Cas, of course I do."

"You won't ever leave, right?" Castiel asked, childish, as it may have been, round eyes peering up at Dean, who brushed some hair away from Castiel's forehead and sent him a vague smile.

"Never, Cas."

They may have stayed that way for a while, before Dean's stomach rumbled, and they pulled away after a laugh.

"Let's eat hamburgers. I love hamburgers," Castiel mused, and felt Dean's hand slip into his on Castiel's thigh.

"Of course, baby, anything you want."

As they pulled out of the parking lot and onto the highway, Castiel watched as the trees passed by in a flurry. The radio caught frequency once again, and an old, Aerosmith song played on the radio faintly. With the window open, the fresh, cold air kissing his face, Castiel let his eyes flutter shut.

For a moment, he simply drank in the moment.

The scent of petrol and leather seats, the sound of the distant cars racing down the highway, the sight of trees dissolving into thin air as they drove away. Dean next to him, his hand in Castiel's, an old love song on the radio, an open window, a cool breeze, and nothing but time.

How he wished life could be this way forever.

The song ended, and the host rambled on about Metallica and Led Zeppelin, before jumping into the next song, which just so happened to be a Zeppelin song, and both Dean and Castiel turned to each other at the same time, only to break into a chuckle. Before they could finish humming along to the song, Dean was pulling into the a parking spot next to a small, mediocre-looking diner.

"Okay, it looks pretty shabby, but trust me," Dean started, as he killed the engine and turned to Castiel, "—this place is going to have the _best_ burgers you've ever tasted. I promise."

Castiel quirked a lip, and followed after Dean who slipped out of the car, and slammed the door shut behind him. They eyed the diner for a few moments, before Dean stretched his arms above his head and yawned. Castiel snorted, and wrapped his hand around Dean's arm with a smile.

"Please, lead the way, Mr. Winchester," He laughed, and watched as Dean puffed out his chest, and pulled Castiel along with a proud grin.

The inside of the diner was minimal, with some pop art paintings hung on the walls, and with bright, red booths. Dean and Castiel slipped into one of the empty booths, and Castiel reached for the laminated menu while Dean pulled out his phone to type something.

"What're you gonna' have?"

"Whatever you're having, just with some pie."

Castiel snorted, and flipped the menu around, before deciding on a cheeseburger with a side of fries. Something on the side of the table flickered, and his eyes snapped over to where Dean's phone was sitting. On the lock screen, however, was a picture of him, in the Impala, laughing and eating a hamburger. His eyes widened as he reached for Dean's phone for a better look.

"God, what— when did you take that?"

"Hm? Oh, the picture—" Dean chuckled and shrugged, "-a while ago after school."

"How long has it been there?"

"Since yesterday, 'cause it's my lock screen. But it _has_ been my home screen for weeks."

Castiel looked up to meet Dean's eyes, and he couldn't help the heat that crawled under his skin as he groaned, "-I look so bad in it."

"No, of course not. You look cute, y'know."

"I look fat."

"You don't look fat, you _are_ fat," Dean teased, and Castiel launched forward to flick him in the head. Dean recoiled, and tried to dodge him.

"Okay, I'm sorry, sorry, I'm kidding, I'm kidding."

Castiel pouted with a _hmph_ , and turned his eyes down to the picture again. If he was being honest, it wasn't that bad, and the fact that Dean had made it his lock screen _and_ home screen made Castiel blush.

"Hey there, what can I get you?" The waitress arrived at their booth, and Castiel rattled off the order to her, before she left, and returned about twenty minutes later with their food. The twenty minutes in-between had been spent with Dean talking about some new show _Sammy_ watched, called Dr. Sexy MD, and how Dean _obviously_ did not watch it. Castiel saw right through him, but went along with it anyway.

"So," Dean asked, a bit abruptly if anything, "-how are you feeling?"

"Hm?" Castiel snapped his eyes up to meet Dean's, his cheeseburger hovering right in front of his face as he quirked a lip, "-I'm fine?"

"You can be honest with me, Cas."

"But, I am being honest with you."

Dean sucked in a breath, and reached out to wipe his fingers on a tissue paper, before leaning against the table, "-Cas, come on, there must be something you're feeling, right? After Friday? And I just want you to be open with me, you know I'm always here for you, right?"

Castiel licked his lips once, caught off-guard by Deans sudden insistence, and he set his burger down. He wiped his hands on a tissue and composed himself, before turning back up to Dean.

"Dean, I don't know if you've been reading a little _too_ much, but I'm fine. Trust me. And why would I lie to you? I'm fine, okay? And I _want_ to be fine, so stop acting like what happened on Friday has completely broken me, or shattered me in any way. Yes, it hurt. And it still does, but I don't want to sit around and mope about it. There's things that I don't feel comfortable enough telling you now, but when the time is right, I will. So stop forcing it out of me. I know you love me, and you have every reason to be worried about me, but please, you making me feel like I'm weak, and that I need to be tended to every hour isn't helping."

It was a lot. Saying what he said. But Castiel felt _liberated_ for some reason. And he only hoped Dean would understand him and step into his shoes. He hoped Dean wouldn't be offended. Dean was silent for a few seconds, before he locked his jaw, and nodded his head slowly.

"I get it, I'm sorry. You're not broken, Cas, not at all. And what happened to you absolutely doesn't define you and it sure as heck shouldn't stop you from being happy. And I get it, okay, I really do. There's, there's things you can't tell me right now, I'm cool with that. Take your time. But please, if it ever gets too much, you'll tell me, right?"

Dean's apple-green eyes stared into Castiel's, a strange maturity in them, one he'd seen in the eyes of quite a few adults, but rarely any teenagers.

"I promise."

"Good." The conversation died down, and the air had turned sour. Castiel wished desperately to say something to break the silence, but he wasn't as skilled with conversations, and everything he could think of Dean already knew.

"Oh, by the way, I stole some of your fries, sorry 'bout that." Dean snorted, and the tension between them seemed to dissipate with those few words. Castiel chuckled, and stole a forkful of pie off of Dean's plate, stuffing it into his mouth with his eyes right on Dean, who looked aghast. Castiel grinned, and bounced his shoulder, continuing to stuff his face with his cheeseburger as Dean pouted.

The time passed by pleasantly, after all, Dean was a very interesting person. They talked about school, exams, books, music, and even the most absurd things they could never talk about before. Dean paid, despite Castiel's protest, and they walked out to the car again. It was around five in the evening when they slipped into the Impala, and the sun had begun to dim from bright yellow into a sombre orange, and the first few traces of twilight lingered at the horizon. 

"I hate saying goodbye."

"Me too," Dean sighed, and snuck a hand over Castiel's thigh. Castiel leaned into his shoulder to press a kiss to his face, to which Dean simply smiled. They pulled out of their parking spot, and onto the main road again. Somehow, Castiel noted, going back always seemed quicker than coming somewhere. Perhaps it was because the roads had become familiar to Castiel, but be what it may, they reached home too soon, sooner than Castiel pleased, and he sighed when Dean paused in front of his house. 

"So, first date, whaddya' think?" He asked, his usual boyish charm on display, and Castiel grinned. 

"Well, you bought me cheeseburgers. It couldn't have been better."

Dean smiled, and slipped out of the car. He walked over to where Castiel was standing outside, and pulled Castiel into a tight, warm hug with their heads buried against each other's necks. 

"I'm gonna' miss you at school."

"Me too," Castiel whispered, and crumpled the front of Dean's shirt in his hand as he tugged Dean down for a long, wet kiss. It felt magical, and cheesy as it may have been, time seemed to stop for a few seconds as they kissed, their hands still wrapped around each other. It made Castiel realise once again, how much Dean meant to him, and how he craved to be with Dean always. Their eyes met, and Dean's bright green eyes regarded him with a strangely fond expression as they dived in for another, brief kiss. Castiel pulled away first, and Dean groaned in protest, only causing Castiel to chuckle and push him away. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, okay?"

"You don't have a choice, Novak," Dean chimed, before slipping back into his car. 

"I love you," Castiel called out with a roll of his eyes. 

"I love you too, baby."

"Drive safe!"

Dean sent him one last wave, before turning away and onto the main street. With a loopy smile on his face and a skip in his gait, Castiel ambled over towards his house, but he paused in his tracks the moment he noticed someone waiting at the front door. It was a woman, judging by her brown, shoulder length hair and her curvy waist. A black leather jacket hung on her shoulders, and she stood with her arms folded across her chest. As Castiel approached her, he felt an odd feeling of somehow _knowing_ who this person was. It wasn't until he reached the porch that he called out to her. 

"Hello?"

The woman snapped around, and Castiel's eyes widened as he drank in the form of Meg Masters, one of his notorious, rebellious classmates. He wondered why she was here though, since she and Castiel barely even had converging social circles. She had always kept her distance from Castiel, and Castiel had kept his distance from her, also partly because she had been Alastair's girlfriend throughout junior year. 

"Hello, erm, Clarence."

"My name is Castiel, Meg."

Meg flustered for a moment, and tried to cover up her embarrassment with a cough as she stepped aside from the front door to Castiel's house. Castiel lingered there for a moment, neither of them acknowledging the silence between them, before Castiel spoke up. 

"What are you doing here?"

"I erm, I wanted to talk to you."

"About?" 

Meg seemed uneasy, and she stole furtive glances from around them, before stepping in closer to Castiel. "Can we go somewhere private?"

Castiel didn't really see anyone else around them, but the fact that Meg Masters, a person Castiel never spoke to before, was here to talk to him, privately at that, struck him quite odd, and absently he nodded, and turned to lead her into his house. Once inside, she shut the door behind them, and Castiel toed off his boots and slipped into his slippers. He dropped his keys in the bowl next to the door, and stood aside to lead Meg in. He didn't doubt she would be astonished by his house, because Meg came from quite a wealthy family herself, from an esteemed social class. 

"Do you want some coffee?"

"Uh, no thank you."

They walked into the living room in silence, before settling down at the couch, and Castiel watched as Meg pushed off her leather jacket to reveal a loose, black tank-top. She spread the jacket across her knees and turned to Castiel. 

"Castiel, I— how are you?"

"Uhm," Castiel blinked, taken aback by the question, "-I'm alright. How are—"

"No, I mean… " Meg chimed in, "-what happened on Friday, I know what it was. After that, how have you been?"

Everything seemed to come to a static halt as Castiel sucked in a deep breath. He felt the colour in his face seep away, and he swallowed nervously for a moment, simply staring at Meg, who stared back with an equally nervous expression. Silence ensued between them for a few long seconds, where Castiel's heart pounded in his chest. Meg sighed, and looked away, playing with a loose thread on the inside of her jacket's lining. 

"I didn't mean to freak you out."

"How did you know?"

Meg snapped her eyes up at Castiel, and a vague, somewhat uncertain smile pulled at the corner of her lips. Her gaze passed over him, before drifting out the window passively.

"Sometimes," She gulped, "-when you've been through something terrible, it becomes easy to spot when someone else has."

Castiel's mouth hung apart— confused, hesitant, incredulous.

"You're saying…?"

Meg sucked in a loud, deep breath and pumped her shoulders before straightening up and looking back at Castiel. She shifted closer to him, and he could see she was trying to speak, trying to string together words, the same way Castiel had been on Friday night with Dean— unable to explain himself, and yet wanting nothing more than to scream his thoughts out to the world.

"I dated Alastair throughout junior year. I liked him, at first, y'know. He was badass, he was ruthless, he was—"

"A bully?"

Her eyes softened, "-yeah. And also the first guy who ever looked at me as someone more than a friend. It was why I devoted myself to him. I thought he'd be the possessive type, and that he'd tear apart anyone who hurt me, or anyone who touched me. Dating Alastair was tough. I don't even know how I got myself to do it for a year. But then things changed towards the end. He got distant, never texted back, he flirted with other girls, kept bullying my _friends_. And at prom last year, after the dance, he came over to my house. I told him I was tired, and that I didn't want to do anything, but then Nick and Gordon came over with him, and…"

Meg paused. Her eyes were cold, but somewhat teary, and her bottom lip quivered as she fidgeted with her thumb, struggling to go on. But Castiel knew what she would say. He realised, the moment she mentioned she didn't want to do anything, he realised what Alastair had done to her. Castiel's heart dropped, and he felt a peculiar feeling of nausea and immense regret course through his chest.

He knew how it felt. He'd lived through it.

Absently, he reached a hand out, and slid it into Meg's to give her a light squeeze. She seemed to jerk out of her thoughts, and turned to face Castiel, wiping away a stray tear on the back of her palm.

"I wanted to die, Castiel. I really did. It's why I came over to check on you, to make sure you're okay," Her hazel brown eyes glazed over Castiel's face as she squeezed his hand back with a gentle smile, one Castiel had never seen on her face before, "-I know we don't talk much. But ever since I saw Benny take you away that night at the party, I couldn't stop thinking about you. Especially, since I know how it feels. Begging someone to stop, to just, want to vanish. You're lucky, Castiel, you have Dean, your boyfriend, who can look out for you, but I—" Meg laughed, a chilling, skeptical laugh, "-I didn't have anyone to reach out to, you're the first person to know this."

Castiel stared at her for a few seconds, before leaning in to wrap an arm around her shoulder. He knew news about Dean and he had already spread to a few people, but he never realised Meg had been at Benny's party. And why would he? They weren't friends. But with Meg sitting here next to him, wiping away her tears, opening up to Castiel for the first time in a whole year, he felt nothing but awe. 

He could barely manage to keep it in for a day, and to live with something like that for a whole year, to pretend you're okay, and that you're not hurting, to pretend you're fine and to come to school and see the face of the very person who ruined you— Meg was strong. She was brave, fearless and everything Castiel wished he was. 

"You don't have to keep it in anymore," He whispered the words prompting him to think of Dean, who'd said the very same thing to him two days ago. 

Meg nodded, and Castiel watched as her face scrunched up, her lips trembled, and the tears clinging to her eyelashes began pouring down her face as she jerked. A soft sob slipped past her lips, and Castiel felt her lean into his chest as she cried. Somehow, Castiel felt his own eyes water, but he restrained his tears, and instead, rubbed an assuring hand down Meg's back. 

"It was the three of them, Castiel, all three—" She whispered against his chest, "-I couldn't even fight back."

"Hey, it's alright, Meg, you're fine, they're not going to hurt you now, okay?" Castiel whispered, stroking a hand down Meg's back as she crumpled the front of his shirt, and nodded, before pulling away and rubbing at her swollen, red face. 

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"You deserved to let it out, Meg. Thank you for sharing this with me."

A smile spread across Meg's face, and Castiel rubbed a hand over her shoulder, before letting it fall away, eyes travelling blankly over the space between them. Meg sniffled, and settled back against the couch, rubbing her hands over her face to compose herself. 

"On Friday, I— it was the three of them, but, it was their fingers. And Alastair forced it into my mouth. There was this bottle of beer I had with me, and they emptied it, and shoved the thing inside me."

Meg sat quiet for a moment before sighing, "-that must have hurt so bad, Castiel."

"It did. I bled for a few minutes, but not anymore. I got a check-up this morning, I just have to take some meds for muscle pain. And then there's Dean, he said I can't come to school for three days at least."

"He's right, you need rest, your body needs time to heal."

Castiel smiled and nodded, "—yeah."

Silence settled between them again, reminding them they were still somewhat strangers, when at last, Meg spoke up. 

"Dean went crazy."

"Hm?"

"After you left, he came down to where all of us were dancing. He beat the _shit_ out of Alastair. Stepped on his ribs, punched his nose off, ruined his jaw. There was so much blood. He broke Nick and Gordon's bones too, their fingers and their ribs," Meg chuckled, "—as much as the bastard annoys me, I wanted to go over and hug him, thank him. I couldn't stop smiling about how Alastair was lying in his own blood."

With every word, Castiel's face dropped. Dean had said what he'd done to Alastair had been bad— but this bad? Castiel only prayed Dean wouldn't get into trouble over any of it. God, why did Dean have to be so harsh— what if he'd hurt himself? It was three against one after all. But with how proud Meg seemed of Dean, perhaps Alastair deserved all of it, and more. 

"So there's one good thing, you won't be seeing Alastair for a while," Meg added, "—I wish I never had to see him again."

And then it struck Castiel, "—what if we reported him?"

Meg's eyes lit up. 

"You mean, we get him suspended?"

"Yup. He's sexually assaulted two students, verbally and physically assaulted several more. We just need to gather up enough people to back us up. I'm sure if we have a good majority of students testifying against him, the school _will_ have to suspend him," Castiel said. He felt like he was genuinely onto something; something that could work out if they put in some effort. 

"We're gonna' need a teacher on our side too, it will never work out unless we do."

"Mr. Singer. Dean once told me, he's like an uncle to Dean. And he's a good person, he can help us."

Meg and Castiel shared a look: a look of enlightenment. 

"Are you sure about this, Castiel?"

"I am. Are you going to support me?"

"Through it all," Meg nodded firmly, and Castiel broke into a smile. 

They clasped each other's hands into a friendly shake, and Meg stood up. 

"So I'll see you Thursday, and oh, I've got your number, I'll text you, okay? And let me know if you need anything. Maybe there's something you can't ask Dean, I could help you with it." She smiled, and Castiel walked her to the door. 

"Of course. And you too, thank you so much for telling me your story, Meg. I just, I feel much better now, knowing I'm not alone."

Meg pulled him in a brief hug, before pulling away. 

"You're not alone, Castiel. I hope you feel better soon."

"Thank you. Get home safe."

"Good night," Meg said, and now that Castiel noticed, it was quite dark outside, somewhere around seven in the evening. He smiled, and watched as she walked away and slipped into a black car standing at a corner. The car pulled onto the main street, and disappeared at the curve. 

Castiel shut the door behind him, and wondered whether or not he should reveal his meeting with Meg to Dean. He did not want to keep secrets from Dean, but the things Meg had told Castiel were personal, said under the acknowledgement of their mutual respect for each other's experiences, so no, perhaps he could ask Meg some day for permission to tell Dean. _Until then_ , he fished his phone out of his pocket, and shot Dean a text. 

**me:**  
I miss you.   
_Sent 6.47 PM._

**Dean:**  
I miss you too, baby.   
_Received 6.48 PM._

**me:**   
I'll call you after dinner.   
_Sent 6.48 PM._

**Dean:**  
ofc sweetheart  
 _Received 6.48 PM._

**me:**  
I love you  
 _Sent 6.49 PM._

**Dean:**  
I love you too baby   
_Received 6.50 PM._

Castiel smiled, and made his way to his bedroom with a rejuvenated spirit and vigour. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: 15 March.


	15. Dean.

News spread as quick as lightning through Lawrence High about Alastair Knight and Dean Winchester's clash at Benny's party on Friday night. The news owed its spread to the amount of Dean and Alastair's classmates who had witnessed the fight themselves. When Dean showed up at school on Monday morning, he noted the look of utter awe and respect in the eyes of his classmates. It was no secret that Alastair had been a trouble to almost everyone in the class, and putting him down, doing what nobody else had been able to do for the past few years, especially by someone Alastair once considered a _friend_ , it was bound to leave the others speechless. 

And yet, he decided not to make a mountain of a molehill, and assumed his place at the back of the class silently, waiting for their homeroom teacher to come in. He glanced down at his phone in his hand, where Cas had sent him a text, a _good morning_ selfie of him in bed, and Dean replied with a heart-eyes GIF. Something— no, somebody nudged him in the side, and he turned around to meet his classmate, a boy whose name he wasn't quite sure of, since he hadn't really taken the time to know everyone. 

"Why's Novak absent?"

Dean eyed the boy for a moment, before quirking his lip. "No idea."

"Didn't he tell you? I thought you guys were together."

"He's resting. He's a bit sick." Dean leaned forward, cold eyes staring into the boy's, "—you wanna' know more?" He growled, and watched as the boy retreated to his desk with a soft apology. 

Dean's eyes trailed over to the front bench, which was empty today, but was usually occupied by Cas, who would arrange his notebooks and textbooks lecture-wise, and his pens and pencils on the side. It was the tidiest desk in class, if you ask Dean. A few feet away, were three more empty desks— as they should have been. Alastair, Nick, and Gordon. 

The door to their classroom clicked open, and in walked their homeroom teacher, Ms. Barnes, who taught them English as well. She set her binders down on the teacher's desk, and with her glasses set on the tip of her nose, turned to the class. 

"As you may have known already, three students from our class have been hospitalised for a few days, Alastair Knight, Nick Morningstar, and Gordon Walker. I don't know how, I don't know why, I don't know when. It was beyond school premises, so frankly, I couldn't care less if one of you beat them up—" Somebody whistled, Benny maybe, and Mrs. Barnes sent him a look, "—that being said, I do hope you all wish them well and provide them with notes if need be."

A loud, collective whine of dismay rung through the class, and Dean smiled to himself. It was already understood that almost half of the class would _never_ willingly give their notes away to _Alastair_ of all people. 

"Mr. Novak has also called in sick, he will be absent till Thursday, please do take care of your classmate when he returns."

A few eyes snapped over to Dean, but he simply kept his gaze fixed to his desk. A few moments of rustling later, the class commenced, and Mrs. Barnes got into a discussion about queer-coded characters in classic literature, which wasn't even a part of their syllabus, but without Alastair and his gang to throw slurs in the midst of the discussion, it really did end up being interesting. It also made Dean regret ever calling Castiel slurs, like fag, because hey, he was trying to be rude and harsh, but he shouldn't have done that. It wasn't like he was always possessive about Castiel. Before they were friends, he genuinely couldn't care less about him, and when he'd found him on OnlyPics, he realised just how much he could threaten the nerd with the pictures. Now though, things had changed. They were far from where they were a few months ago. 

Cas meant everything to Dean now. 

And he couldn't wait to go see Cas after school. 

English passed by in a flurry, and so did Calculus, Biology and Geography. Before Dean knew it, it was recess, meaning he ended up at the cafeteria with Benny, who trailed after him quietly. It was strange for Benny to be quiet, especially at recess, but Dean didn't ask him much about it, until they were seated at a table at the far corner of the cafeteria. 

"You're being weird," Dean started, and scooped some potatoes into his mouth, "-too quiet. You got somethin' on your mind?"

Benny sucked in a breath, before letting his fork drop down next to his tray, "-nothing much. I just— about Friday, I—"

Dean felt his mood sour at the mention of _Friday._ He set his spoon aside, and thought of what to say, before realising there was nothing he actually could. Every time he thought of it, he could see nothing but Castiel's swollen, miserable face. The fear in his eyes, the pain, the agony, the guilt— Castiel said he was alright, said he wanted to move on, but even then, it had only been three days, and he knew the type of person Castiel was, meaning he would be thinking of it even now. Every morning, the thought haunted Dean— how he hoped he would have never left; how he hoped he could have been earlier— how Castiel would never have gone through what he did if Dean had been there. 

And Benny— Dean couldn't tell why Benny was this _shocked_ , but it was terrible what they'd witnessed together, and Dean wasn't surprised that it would take Benny time to recover.

"I know," Dean whispered, "-we're both trying to move on, Benny, Cas and I. I know you can't forget about it, but just—" A groan slipped past Dean's lips, "—Cas wants to be happy, okay? He wants to move on, he doesn't want to be treated like he's broken. And I hate myself, Benny, I really do, I hate that I couldn't get there on time, and no matter how many times I punch or even kill Alastair, it's not going to change what happened. We can just be thankful that it didn't get too out of hand."

Benny froze at that, much to Dean's surprise, and his eyes flew wide. 

"What?" Dean asked, his voice low, a pang of fear gripping his shoulders as he stares up at Benny. 

"I— Castiel didn't— Cas didn't tell you?"

Sweat dripped down Dean's brow at the sight of Benny's wide eyes. He felt helpless— as if Benny knew something, and he wasn't telling Dean, as if there was something big, something terrible that he had kept from Dean, and now that he mentioned _Cas_ Dean felt his heart pound in his chest. 

"Tell me what?"

Benny rubbed a hand over his palm, and shifted back in his seat, fidgeting with his hands for a moment before turning back to Dean. "The other day, on Friday, when I took Cas home, I helped him settle down. Water, some food, but he didn't eat much. I helped him change his clothes, y'know, they were torn everywhere, and erm," Guilt flashed in Benny's eyes, and Dean felt his breath hitch at whatever Benny was going to say— 

"—he was bleeding, Dean, between his legs."

Dean gulped. "What?"

"He was bleeding between his thighs, he wouldn't even sit down without wincing."

"So, you mean…?"

Benny sighed, and hung his head down. 

"I think things were out of hand before we even came in."

At once, Dean felt his chest tighten at the thought that— no. It couldn't be. 

If Alastair had done that, Castiel would tell Dean. 

He would tell Dean, right? 

"Cas didn't tell me."

Benny sucked in a loud breath, and pushed his tray away. "Maybe he's scared, Dean. I mean, it's only been a few days. Wouldn't you be scared in his place? Besides, you went psycho over what you saw, he's probably worried about what you'd do if you found out what actually went down."

"No, I mean, Cas isn't scared of me. Wait," Dean gulped, feeling his stomach flood with nausea, "-is he?"

"Maybe not scared. Just, just worried, I guess."

_Yes, it hurt. And it still does, but I don't want to sit around and mope about it. There's things that I don't feel comfortable enough telling you now, but when the time is right, I will._

And for once, it became clear— all too clear.

Dean wanted to throw up.

He gulped, and leaned back in his seat, rubbing a hand across his face, eyes drooping and lips turned down in a frown. He felt his fingers tremble as he reached down to poke at his food, suddenly having lost his appetite.

"I'm sorry you had to find out like this."

"No, I'll uh," His voice was shaky, "—I'll talk to Cas."

"Don't accuse him, okay? Just, just ask him, quietly. Be calm. Dean you—" Benny sighed, "—just remember you'll never be able to see the world from his eyes. You'll never be able to feel the pain and the hurt and the regret that he did on Friday. So just go easy on him, okay?"

Dean nodded, although absently, as he reached down into his pocket and swiped through his phone, staring wistfully down at the picture of Castiel laughing. It didn't fail to put a smile on his face, and he rubbed a thumb over Castiel's face on the screen. If Benny was being honest, and then again, he had no reason to lie, had Castiel really— had Dean been too late? Was what Dean saw not all? Had there been something more? There had been quite a gap between Castiel's call and Dean finding Castiel on Friday, had things escalated quicker than he expected them to?

Some part of Dean absolutely did believe Benny. 

Because Dean remembered seeing the lightest traces of bruises on the inside of Castiel's thighs on Saturday morning. He hadn't been too focused on them, especially with how beautiful Castiel had looked in the sunlight, but in hindsight— it did strike him odd that there were bruises on his thighs when all Alastair had done was use his mouth. 

Lunch passed by with Benny being quiet, letting Dean wallow in his thoughts as well. 

Back in class, Dean tried concentrating, but he simply couldn't. In his mind, he kept seeing the sight of Castiel, being used and violated, and he couldn't bear it. 

Their last lecture for the day, a free period where they were allowed to do whatever they pleased, Dean missed Castiel the most. Somehow, he found himself standing on the terrace, the one where he and Castiel often listened to music alone. 

For the first time in weeks, Dean lit up a cigarette. 

He brought it to his lips and yet, he couldn't find it in himself to touch it. 

Because if he did, he would be breaking his promise to Cas. 

And he couldn't do that. 

His eyes glazed over passively over the woods and the hills beyond the school building, each moment bringing back memories of the time they'd spent together, away from the eyes of the world. For the first time in years, Dean had let himself open up to someone, to let someone know who he was— and it turned out to be Castiel Novak, a boy he never even expected to love with all his heart. 

He considered calling Castiel. 

Sighing, he sunk down against the railing, feeling strangely empty now that Castiel wasn't here to press against his side. 

His fingers tapped on Castiel's name before he could even reconsider, and Castiel picked up on the second ring. 

"Hello Dean." Castiel's voice was full of life and colour. 

Tears welled at the rim of Dean's eyes. 

He wasn't strong. Cas was. And he realised, he would never be able to be as strong as Castiel. 

"Hey," He croaked out, trying his hardest to not let Castiel know he was on the verge of crying. Dean flicked his cigarette away and crushed it under his foot. He wiped a hand over his face, and pressed his phone to his ear. 

"It must be the last lecture, right?" 

"Yeah."

"Did you miss me?" Castiel asked, mischief lacing his voice, and Dean smiled. 

"Not at all."

"Why not?" 

"Well, maybe if I stopped thinking of you, I'd have time to miss you."

Castiel went silent for a few seconds, and Dean let himself smile wider. 

"Are you feeling better? Did you take the meds? And lunch, did you have lunch? The doctor said you need to eat at least one meal before consuming the meds, so don't you dare skip out. Or I'll have to come over and shove it down your throat—"

"Calm down, calm down, Dean, I'm fine. I'm much better than before, and yes, I had breakfast, I had lunch, and I did have my meds. I'm okay, okay?"

"Okay, but don't exert yourself too much. Just keep sleeping, that's the best remedy."

"Yes, mom."

"Shut up, I'm not kidding."

"Well I'm not kidding either, I'm fine, Dean. Trust me. Just come home soon."

Dean sighed, "—I will. I love you."

"I love you too."

Silence settled across the line. 

"You're really fine, right Cas?"

Castiel chuckled over the line, before muttering "—go back to class, Dean." And hung up. 

Dean sighed, and slipped his phone back into his pocket, pushing himself up to his feet to make his way back to class. 

The bell rung the moment Dean reached the threshold of the class, and he watched as his classmates scampered past him to flood the corridors, except a few who were still busy packing their bags. Dean made his way over to his desk to gather up his things, when a figure approached him, and he turned around to find Benny waiting for him. He sent him a vague smile, and slipped his back pack onto his shoulders, before turning to the door. 

Andrea joined them, Benny's girlfriend and Dean's classmate, and she rambled on about something, but neither Benny nor Dean seemed to care as they trudged down the corridor. 

"—people? I'm speaking?" She quipped, and Benny sucked in a breath. 

"Baby, I'm sorry, it's just, Dean and I have been a little distracted lately. Keep speaking." Benny sent her a smile, which she obviously saw through, and after that, she began asking Benny questions in hushed voices, but Dean didn't mind. He bid Benny goodbye, and slipped into the Impala. He pulled it out of parking, and drove it onto the main street. He knew driving and calling someone wasn't a good thing, but he put Sam on speaker anyway. 

"Dean?"

"Hey, how ya' doin', Sammy?"

"I'm alright," Sam sighed on the other end, "-doing some worksheets. Are you driving?"

"Yeah, I'm gonna' call you in a little while, just wanted to tell you I'm heading over to Cas's place, see ya' in a hour or so."

"Cool, is he alright?"

"Yeah, he says he's better."

"Great, come home safe. I'll handle dad."

"Thanks kid, I owe you."

"Don't worry about it," Sam said and hung up. 

* * *

Standing at the Novaks' door, Dean composed himself, trying his best to put on a smile but failing each time he was reminded of what Benny had said to him that morning. He rung the buzzer, and stepped back. The door opened a few seconds later, and who would greet him but Cas? And said Cas was clad in nothing but Dean's flannel t-shirt, which Dean remembered losing at Castiel's home on Saturday, and to match with the red shirt, a pair of short, black tights. And nothing else. He looked as tempting as he did adorable, and Dean burst into a smile on instinct. 

Before he could move however, Castiel was yanking him down in a tight, crushing koala hug, with his thighs and arms wrapped around Dean, not allowing Dean a fraction of mobility, and he couldn't help but yelp as they crashed to the floor. 

"I missed you so much," Cas pouted, his big, round blue princess eyes peering up into Dean's, and Dean almost fell in love with him once again, as he sat up, and pulled Castiel into a hug. He pressed his lips to Castiel's forehead, and let the younger boy bury himself in Dean's chest. 

"I missed you too, baby."

Castiel pulled away at once, eyes wide and ecstatic as he jumped up to his feet, and dragged Dean up with him.

"Look what I made," He laughed, as he led Dean into the living room. Dean followed after him, making sure the front door was shut, before they reached into the living room, only to find—

Blankets. Almost a dozen of them— all hung around and hoisted up to create a pillow fort. 

"It's a pillow fort," Castiel squealed, and Dean watched as he jumped face first into a large, thick mattress on the floor with a loud _eee_. Honestly, the whole thing was cute as shit, and Dean couldn't wait for a moment longer as he followed after Castiel, and jumped into the mattress, grabbing Castiel by the waist and pulling him close. 

"You made this all by yourself?"

"Mhm," Cas smiled, and burrowed into Dean's arms, "—all me. I didn't want to study. And I was bored and tired of sleeping around. Do you like it?"

"Very much, sweetheart, it's cute as fuck." Dean let his eyes trail over the fort— comfy, airy, convenient and cosy. Distantly, he could recall a time, quite a few years ago, when Sammy was around six years old, and he was ten, where they would build blanket forts in their bedroom and spend hours reading DC Comics, watching movies, playing board games— and when dad would come home from work, they would giggle and invite him in. Dad hadn't always been cold to them. Dean remembered the way he would hand both Sam and him a handful of candies, and they'd eat them all in their pillow fort. 

"Dean?"

The sound of his name pulled him out of his thoughts, and he snapped his eyes to the side to meet Castiel, who gazed at him with his head propped up on his arm. The flannel shirt on his shoulders had slipped down to his arm, revealing his delicious, smooth collarbones, and Dean let his eyes roam across them. 

"Sorry, got lost in my memories."

"What were they about?"

Dean sighed for a moment, before draping himself over Castiel and nudging him down into the mattress, making Cas laugh and squirm. He squeezed Cas in his arms, before resting his chin on the boy's chest to gaze up at his bright eyes. 

"When I was a kid, about eight years ago, Sammy and I would always build pillow forts, and when dad would come home, the three of us would sit in there. Dad barely fit, I mean, half of his body would be outside the fort, and his head would be inside," Dean laughed, and felt Castiel's fingers play with his hair. 

"So your dad, he hasn't always been so cold?"

"No, not really. I mean, he was quite decent when we were younger. But as we grew older, when we started making choices of our own, some of which didn't please him, we kind of grew apart. Dad used to be in the Marines, but after he retired, he got into starting the garage, and slowly, he got into alcohol too. We didn't know how to stop him, and he wouldn't listen to his friends. They left him to himself, but we couldn't." 

Silence had settled between them for a few seconds, before Dean watched Castiel lean in, and press a kiss to his lips. 

"You had a choice to leave, but you chose to stay with your father, that's very commendable Dean. I wish one day he'd realise just how precious his boys are. I can't bear to see you with another bruise on your face."

"And you think I can? C'mon, let's get you some ointment, and hey, have you had anything after lunch? It's been a few hours already, I'll cook you something." 

Castiel sighed, and though Dean tried to move, Castiel squeezed him in his arms, and rolled them over until Dean was lying on his back with Castiel straddling him. 

"No," He smiled innocently, and leaned down to press his lips to Dean's. Dean tried to turn them over, but Castiel simply pinned his arms to his side, and rubbed his hips over Dean's crotch, much to Dean's _evident_ excitement, as they kissed. Hot, wet, desperate— it was unlike Dean had ever seen Castiel before, and if he had time to think about something other than Cas, he'd probably think of how surprising it was to watch Castiel take the lead like this.

Through the grinding, the rubbing, and all the dry humping, Dean had to physically restrain himself from pulling Castiel's underwear down. Even then, he managed to slip his palms inside Castiel's tight shorts, and cupped them over the globes of Cas's warm, round ass, and spread it open, only for Castiel to wince, and Dean froze with a jerk. 

_He was bleeding between his thighs, he wouldn't even sit down without wincing._

As if it burnt his skin, Dean tore his hands away from Castiel's body, and recoiled back, putting a good foot between them, eyes now passive and grey as he realised— _he could have hurt Cas._

"I'm—" Dean almost choked on his own spit, "—I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that—"

"No, uhm, it's alright. I should erm," Castiel shifted nervously for a second, before turning away, "—I'm going to get a jacket, it's getting colder in here."

A beat passed between them, and Castiel pushed himself up to his feet. Before he could take a step forward though, Dean shot an arm out to grab his wrist, and Castiel stopped dead in his tracks. Dean snapped his eyes up to meet Castiel's, and urged him down. 

Something resembling shame and guilt lingered behind Castiel's deep baby-blue eyes, and try as hard as Dean did to catch his gaze, Castiel kept his eyes turned to his feet. 

"Cas, I know you said there's some things you'd only tell me when the time was right, but I need to ask you something, and I want you to be honest with me."

Although dejected and hesitant, Castiel nodded, and Dean heard him hitch a breath. 

"On Friday… What I saw wasn't the only thing Alastair did to you, was it?"

Castiel kept his eyes turned down, but nodded. 

"What else did he do, Cas?"

Slowly, Dean held a hand out, reaching for Castiel's palm to give his fingers a light squeeze. 

"Cas, sweetheart," Dean whispered, and got up on his knees to pull Castiel into a soft, warm hug. He felt Castiel crumple his uniform shirt in his hands, and the wetness of his tears seeped into Dean's shirt. When Dean shut his eyes, all he could think of was the pair of guilty, pain-stricken eyes he'd witnessed on Friday, and his own legs threatened to shake under him as he held onto Cas. 

At this point, he didn't know who needed to be held more— Castiel or himself? 

Perhaps they both did. 

"Hey, talk to me, please," Dean urged him on, now pulling away to cup his hands across Castiel's jaw, letting a vague smile pull at his lips to reassure Cas, "—you're my strong boy, Cas, please, just this once, tell me what it was."

"You won't get mad at me?" Castiel asked, tears bulging his eyes and a quiver to his tiny voice. 

"Of course not."

"And you won't hurt anyone?"

"You mean Alastair?" Dean asked quietly, to which Castiel nodded. "I wonder hurt anyone, I promise. I'm just going to stay here with you, okay? Now _you_ mean more to me than anyone else."

Castiel's glassy eyes travelled across Dean's face, before wandering down to the space between them, and Dean leaned in to listen to Castiel speak in a soft, timid voice. 

"They— their fingers. They kept pushing them inside—"

"Inside?" Dean asked, more to himself than Cas, but Cas nodded anyway. 

"Inside me. I tried to kick them too, but they kept hurting me, Dean, and you know, you know that, that bottle I had—"

It was as if every word had seared a gash into Dean's skin, and he felt itchy, nauseated, strange— he wanted to throw up, he might even have in his throat, but the thought of it— just the thought of it; the thought of them hurting Castiel in _such_ a way, it had bile rising up in Dean's throat and tears pooling at his eyes. He thought he was strong, he even considered himself brave— but now, listening to Castiel talk about how Alastair had raped him with an _object,_ so inhumanely, so pathetically, with such ruthlessness— Dean wanted to kill Alastair, he really did. He wanted to crush every bone, every tendon, every nerve in Alastair's body, and light it up on fire until nothing remained but ash; even then, he wanted to drill a hundred thousand bullets into Alastair's body, so many that all that would be left of Alastair was a mush of flesh and skin. 

"—And they shoved the bottle inside," Castiel hiccuped, "—over and over, and over again. I couldn't stop them, I'm sorry—" 

Cas was crying— no, he was _wailing_ in Dean's arms, mumbling something over and over again, something like _sorry_ and _it hurt so much,_ and Dean could do nothing but watch as Castiel broke down, spit drooling down his chin, tears streaming down his face, and his voice growing hoarse each minute. 

Dean was angry— but more than that, he felt pain. 

Pain because he would never, ever, ever in his whole, entire life, ever understand the fear, the helplessness, and the horror Castiel must have felt in those few moments. 

"Cas, I—" A tear rolled down Dean's face as he locked his jaw, and tried to compose himself, "—Cas, you— why didn't you tell me sooner?"

A beat passed. Castiel sobbed with a hiccup. "I was scared."

_Maybe he's scared, Dean. I mean, it's only been a few days. Wouldn't you be scared in his place? Besides, you went psycho over what you saw, he's probably worried about what you'd do if you found out what actually went down._

"I'm sorry you were scared of me, Cas." 

Castiel blinked his teary eyes up at Dean for a moment. They were puffy, swollen, and red at the rims, and yet, it was the way they stared into Dean's soul that still managed to baffle Dean. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"It's okay, baby, it's okay, I'm, I understand. But," Dean sat back on his knees, and took Castiel's hands into his own, "—I won't do anything reckless, okay? I won't do anything to hurt you. And I love you so much, Cas, I can't tell you— and I can't, I can't, I can't—"

Dean couldn't breathe. But he had to. He had to be strong, he had to be Castiel's _pillar,_ his _rock—_ he had to be Castiel's strength.

"I can't tell you how strong you are. Thank you for telling me this, okay?"

Castiel nodded, and rubbed at his eyes, breath shaky and hands trembling. Dean let out a loud sigh, and pressed a kiss to Castiel's head, before pulling away and gazing down at him. 

"Is there anything else, Cas? Please, no more secrets, okay?"

"How did you…" Cas asked softly, "-how did you find out?"

"Benny told me this morning."

Castiel hummed, "—he saw it. The blood."

Dean stilled for a moment, letting the word wash over him for a moment, before shuddering and nodding. 

"Mhm. Now come on," Dean reached up to wipe the back of his palm over Castiel's face, much to Castiel's fond protest, "—give me a smile, baby, come on."

It took him a few seconds, but the lightest trace of a smile pulled at Castiel's lips, and he broke into a grin. 

"Attaboy, c'mon, let's get you some ice-cream, something to balance out all that salt from the crying," Dean snorted, hoping at least his lame attempts at joking would lighten the air between them, and thankfully, Castiel giggled— it was a laugh, but it was too cute to be a laugh. Dean helped him up to his feet, and led him into the kitchen. 

"You're the strongest person I know, Cas. You don't even need me, but I'm still going to be here for you, 'kay? And there's no refunds on that. I'm here to stay, like it or not."

Castiel smiled, and Dean felt his heart skip a beat as he loosened the tie on his uniform, rolled up his sleeves, and rummaged through the shelves. 

"Any request—"

"I love you."

Dean grinned. "We don't have that on the menu."

Castiel smiled, and leaned against the counter to wrap his arms around Dean's waist and bury his face into Dean's chest. 

"Dean?"

"Yeah, sweetheart?"

"You… You don't think I'm ugly, right? Just because Alastair—"

"Cas," Dean shushed him, and pressed a kiss to Castiel's lips, "—you're the most beautiful person I know, okay? What Alastair did, it doesn't define you in anyway. It was something that happened to you, but it's not your whole identity. And honestly, it's taking me everything I have to hold myself back right now, Cas, you're wearing my shirt, you're wearing those tiny shorts— I'm trying my best not to pop a boner right now."

Castiel chuckled, and stole a soft, lingering kiss from Dean's lips, nudging him back until his back hit the counter, as they made out lazily, hands flying, scrambling for purchase, as Dean swallowed every last inch of Castiel's mouth, hands traveling hesitantly under Castiel's shirt, until they pulled away to catch their breath. 

"You— _fuck,_ you're gonna' kill me someday, sweetheart."

Castiel laughed against Dean's lips— a soft, warm laugh that shook Dean down to his very bones, and he pulled Castiel into another kiss. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update date: 20th March.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos, comments and love. 💕🥺🙏


End file.
